LIBRARY 

University   of   California^ 

IRVINE 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE 


BY 

AMELIA  E.  BARR 

AUTHOR     OF     "  JAN     VEDDER'S     WIFE 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
1886 


COPYRIGHT,   1886, 
BY 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. — THE  BEACHED  BOAT,          .          .  i 

CHAPTER  II. — THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST,           .  17 

CHAPTER  III.— THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON,  .  36 

CHAPTER  IV. — MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS,             .  57 
CHAPTER  V. — PARTING,      .           .           .           .69 

CHAPTER  VI. — OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE,    •  87 

CHAPTER  VII. — MAGGIE,    ....  108 

CHAPTER  VIII.— THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE,     .  133 

CHAPTER  IX. — SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS.  161 

CHAPTER  X. — MAGGIE'S  FLIGHT,        .           .  191 

CHAPTER  XI. — DRUMLOCH,           .           .           ,  220 

CHAPTER  XII. — TO  THE  HEBRIDES,    .           .  241 

CHAPTER  XIII.— THE  BROKEN  TRYST,     .           .  268 

CHAPTER  XIV.— THE  MEETING  PLACE,         .  298 

CHAPTER  XV. — WOO'D  AN'  MARRIED  AND  A',  .  322 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT. 

Thou  old  gray  sea, 
Thou  broad  briny  water, 
With  thy  ripple  and  thy  plash, 
And  thy  waves  as  they  lash 
The  old  gray  rocks  on  the  shore. 
With  thy  tempests  as  they  roar, 
And  thy  crested  billows  hoar, 
And  thy  tide  evermore 

Fresh  and  free." 

— DR.  BLACKIE. 

ON  the  shore  of  a  little  land-locked  haven, 
into  which  the  gulls  and  terns  bring 
tidings  of  the  sea,  stands  the  fishing  hamlet  of 
Pittenloch.  It  is  in  the  "  East  Neuko'  Fife," 
that  bit  of  old  Scotland  "  fronted  with  a  girdle 
of  little  towns,"  of  which  Pittenloch  is  one  of  the 


2  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

smallest  and  the  most  characteristic.  Some  of 
the  cottages  stand  upon  the  sands,  others  are 
grouped  in  a  steep  glen,  and  a  few  surmount 
the  lofty  sea-washed  rocks. 

To  their  inhabitants  the  sea  is  every  thing. 
Their  hopes  and  fears,  their  gains  and  losses, 
their  joys  and  sorrows,  are  linked  with  it  ;  and 
the  largeness  of  the  ocean  has  moulded  their 
feelings  and  their  characters.  They  are  in  a 
measure  partakers  of  its  immensity  and  its 
mystery.  The  commonest  of  their  men  have 
wrestled  with  the  powers  of  the  air,  and  the 
might  of  wind,  and  wave,  and  icy  cold.  The 
weakest  of  their  women  have  felt  the  hallowing 
touch  of  sudden  calamity,  and  of  long,  lonely, 
life-and-death,  watches.  They  are  intensely 
religious,  they  hold  tenaciously  to  the  modes 
of  thought  and  speech,  to  the  manner  of  living 
and  dressing,  and  to  all  the  household  traditions 
which  they  have  cherished  for  centuries. 

Two  voices  only  have  had  the  power  to  move 
them  from  the  even  spirit  of  their  life — the 
voice  of  Knox,  and  the  voice  of  Chalmers.  It 
was  among  the  fishers  of  Fife  that  Knox  began 
his  crusade  against  popery  ;  and  from  their  very 
midst,  in  later  days,  sprang  the  champion  of  the 


THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT.  3 

Free  Kirk.  Otherwise  rebellions  and  revolutions 
troubled  them  little.  Whether  Scotland's 
king  sat  in  Edinburgh  or  London — whether 
Prince  Charles  or  George  of  Hanover  reigned, 
was  to  them  of  small  importance.  They  lived 
apart  from  the  battle  of  life,  and  only  the 
things  relating  to  their  eternal  salvation,  or  their 
daily  bread,  moved  them. 

Forty-two  years  ago  there  was  no  landward 
road  to  Pittenloch,  unless  you  followed  the 
goats  down  the  steep  rocks.  There  was  not  a 
horse  or  cart  in  the  place  ;  probably  there  was 
not  a  man  in  it  who  had  ever  seen  a  haymaking. 
If  you  went  to  Pittenloch,  you  went  by  the  sea  ; 
if  you  left  it,  there  was  the  same  grand  highway. 
And  the  great,  bearded,  sinewy  men,  bending 
to  the  oars,  and  sending  the  boat  spinning 
through  clouds  of  spindrift,  made  it,  after  all,  a 
right  royal  road. 

Forty-two  years  ago,  one  wild  March  after 
noon,  a  young  woman  was  standing  on  the 
beach  of  Pittenloch.  There  was  an  ominous  wail 
in  the  sea,  telling  of  the  fierce  tide  yet  to 
come  ;  and  all  around  her  whirling  wraiths  of 
vapor  sweeping  across  the  level  sands.  From 
a  little  distance,  she  appeared  like  a  woman 


4  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

standing  amid  gray  clouds — a  sombre,  solid, 
figure  ;  whose  attitude  was  one  of  grave  thought- 
fulness.  Approaching  nearer,  it  was  evident 
that  her  gaze  was  fixed  upon  a  fishing  boat 
which  had  been  drawn  high  upon  the  shingle ; 
and  from  which  a  party  of  heavy-footed  fisher 
men  were  slowly  retreating. 

She  was  a  beautiful  woman  ;  tall,  supple, 
erect ;  with  a  positive  splendor  of  health  and 
color.  Her  dress  was  that  of  the  Fife  fisher- 
girl  ;  a  blue  flannel  jacket,  a  very  short  white 
and  yellow  petticoat,  and  a  white  cap  drawn 
over  her  hair,  and  tied  down  with  a  lilac 
kerchief  knotted  under  the  chin.  This  kerchief 
outlined  the  superb  oval  of  her  face  ;  and  made 
more  remarkable  the  large  gray  eyes,  the  red 
curved  mouth,  and  the  wide  white  brow.  She 
was  barefooted,  and  she  tapped  one  foot  rest 
lessly  upon  the  wet  sands,  to  relieve,  by 
physical  motion,  her  mental  tension  and  sor 
row. 

It  was  Maggie  Promoter,  and  the  boat  which 
had  just  been  so  solemnly  "  beached  "  had  been 
her  father's.  It  was  a  good  boat,  strong  in 
every  timber,  an  old  world  Buckie  skiff,  notor 
ious  for  fending  in  foundering  seas  ;  but  it  had 


THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT.  5 

failed  Promoter  in  the  last  storm,  and  three 
days  after  he  and  his  sons  had  gone  to  the 
bottom  had  been  found  floating  in  Largo 
Bay. 

If  it  had  been  a  conscious  criminal,  a  boat 
which  had  wilfully  and  carelessly  sacrificed  life, 
it  could  hardly  have  been  touched  with  more 
dislike ;  and  in  accordance  with  the  ancient 
law  of  the  Buchan  and  Fife  fishers,  it  was  "put 
from  the  sea"  Never  again  might  it  toss  on 
the  salt  free  waves,  and  be  trusted  with  fisher 
men's  lives.  Silently  it  was  drawn  high  up  on 
the  desolate  shingle,  and  left  to  its  long  and 
shameful  decay. 

Maggie  had  watched  the  ceremony  from  a 
little  distance  ;  but  when  the  fishers  had  disap 
peared  in  the  gathering  mist,  she  slowly 
approached  the  boat.  There  it  lay,  upside 
down,  black  and  lonely,  far  beyond  the  highest 
mark  of  any  pitying  tide.  She  fancied  that  the 
insensate  timber  had  a  look  of  shame  and  suf 
fering,  and  she  spoke  to  it,  as  if  it  had  a  soul 
to  comprehend  her: — 

"  Lizzie !  Lizzie  !  What  cam'  o'er  you  no 
to  bide  right  side  up  ?  Four  gude  men  to  your 
keeping,  Lizzie,  and  you  lost  them  a'.  Think 


6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

shame  o'  yersel',  think  shame  o"  yersel',  for  the 
sorrow  you  hae  brought  !  You'll  be  a  heart 
grief  to  me  as  long  as  you  lie  there  ;  for  I 
named  you  mysel',  little  thinking  o'  what  would 
come  o'  it." 

For  a  few  minutes  she  stood  looking  at  the 
condemned  and  unfortunate  boat  in  silence; 
then  she  turned  and  began  to  walk  rapidly 
toward  the  nearest  cluster  of  cottages.  The 
sea  fog  was  rolling  in  thick,  with  the  tide,  and 
the  air  was  cold  and  keen.  A  voice  called  her 
through  it,  and  she  answered  the  long-drawn 
"  Maggie  "  with  three  cheerful  words,  "  I'm 
coming,  Davie."  Very  soon  Davie  loomed 
through  the  fog,  and  throwing  a  plaid  about 
her,  said,  "What  for  did  you  go  near  the  boat, 
Maggie  ?  When  you  ken  where  ill  luck  is,  you 
should  keep  far  from  it." 

"A  better  looking  or  a  bonnier  boat  I  ne'er 
saw,  Davie." 

"  It's  wi'  boats,  as  it  is  wi'  men  and  women  ; 
some  for  destruction,  some  for  salvation.  The 
Powers  above  hae  the  ordering  o'  it,  and  it's  a' 
right,  Maggie." 

"That's  what  folks  say.  I'm  dooting  it 
mysel'.  It's  our  ain  fault  some  way.  Noo 


THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT.  7 

there  would  be  a  false  plumb  in  yonder  boat, 
though  we  didna  ken  it." 

"  Weel,  weel,  she  failed  in  what  was  expected 
o'  her,  and  she's  got  her  deserts.  We  must 
tak'  care  o'  our  ain  job.  But  I  hae  news  for 
you,  and  if  you'll  mak'  a  cup  o'  tea,  and  toast  a 
Finnin  haddie,  we'll  talk  it  o'er." 

The  Promoter  cottage  was  in  a  bend  of  the 
hills,  but  so  near  the  sea  that  the  full  tide 
broke  almost  at  its  door,  and  then  drew  the 
tinkling  pebbles  down  the  beach  after  it.  It 
was  a  low  stone  dwelling,  white-washed,  and 
heather-roofed,  and  containing  only  three 
rooms.  David  and  Maggie  entered  the  princi 
pal  one  together.  Its  deal  furniture  was  spot 
less,  its  floor  cleanly  sanded,  and  a  bright  turf 
fire  was  burning  on  the  brick  hearth.  Some 
oars  and  creels  were  hung  against  the  wall,  and 
on  a  pile  of  nets  in  the  warmest  corner,  a  little 
laddie  belonging  to  a  neighbor's  household  was 
fast  asleep. 

Maggie  quickly  threw  on  more  turf,  and  drew 
the  crane  above  the  fire,  and  hung  the  kettle 
upon  it.  Then  with  a  light  and  active  step  she 
set  about  toasting  the  oat  cake  and  the  haddie, 
and  making  the  tea,  and  setting  the  little  round 


8  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

table.  But  her  heart  was  heavy  enough. 
Scarcely  a  week  before  her  father  and  three 
eldest  brothers  had  gone  out  to  the  fishing, 
and  perished  in  a  sudden  storm  ;  and  the  house 
place,  so  lately  busy  and  noisy  with  the  stir  of 
nearly  half-a-dozen  menfolk,  was  now  strangely 
still  and  lonely. 

Maggie  was  a  year  older  than  her  brother 
David,  but  she  never  thought  of  assuming  any 
authority  over  him.  In  the  first  place,  he  had 
the  privilege  of  sex ;  in  the  next,  David 
Promoter  was  generally  allowed  to  be 
"  extr'onar'  wise-like  and  unwardly  in  a' 
his  ways."  In  fact  there  had  been  an 
intention  of  breaking  through  the  family 
traditions  and  sending  him  to  the  University 
of  Aberdeen.  Latterly  old  Promoter  had 
smoked  his  pipe  very  often  to  the  ambitious 
hope  of  a  minister  in  his  family.  David's 
brothers  and  sister  had  also  learned  to  look  upon 
the  lad  as  destined  by  Providence  to  bring  holy 
honors  upon  the  household.  No  thought  of 
jealousy  had  marred  their  intended  self-denial 
in  their  younger  brother's  behalf.  Their  stern 
Calvinism  taught  them  that  Jacob's  and  Jesse's 
families  were  not  likely  to  be  the  only  ones  in 


THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT.  9 

which  the  younger  sons  should  be  chosen  for 
vessels  of  honor  ;  and  Will  Promoter,  the  eldest 
of  the  brothers,  spoke  for  all,  when  he  said, 
"  Send  Davie  to  Aberdeen,  fayther  ;  gladly  we 
will  a'  of  us  help  wi'  the  fees ;  and  may  be  we 
shall  live  to  see  a  great  minister  come  oot  o'  the 
fishing  boats." 

But  though  the  intended  sacrifice  had  been  a 
sincerely  pure  and  unselfish  one,  it  had  never 
theless  been  refused.  Why  it  had  been  refused, 
was  the  question  filling  David's  heart  with 
doubt  and  despair,  as  he  sat  with  his  head  in 
his  hands,  gazing  into  the  fire  that  March  after 
noon.  Maggie  was  watching  him,  though  he 
did  not  perceive  it,  and  by  an  almost  uncon 
scious  mental  act  was  comparing  him  with  his 
dead  brothers.  They  had  been  simply  strong 
fair  fishers,  with  that  open  airlock  men  get  who 
continually  set  their  faces  to  the  winds  and 
waves.  David  was  different  altogether.  He  was 
exceedingly  tall,  and  until  years  filled  in  his 
huge  framework  of  bone  and  muscle,  would  very 
likely  be  called  "  gawky."  But  he  had  the  face 
of  a  mediaeval  ecclesiastic ;  spare,  and  sallow, 
and  pointed  at  the  chin.  His  hair,  black  and 
exceeding  fine,  hung  naturally  in  long,  straggling 


10  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

masses  ;  his  mouth  was  straight  and  perhaps  a 
little  cruel ;  his  black,  deep  set  eyes  had  the 
glow  in  them  of  a  passionate  and  mystical  soul. 
Such  a  man,  if  he  had  not  been  reared  in  the 
straitest  sect  of  Calvinism,  would  have  adopted 
it — for  it  was  his  soul's  native  air. 

That  he  should  go  to  the  university  and 
become  a  minister  seemed  to  David  as  proper 
as  that  an  apple  tree  should  bear  an  apple.  As 
soon  as  it  was  suggested,  he  felt  himself  in  the 
moderator's  chair  of  the  general  assembly. 
"  Why  had  such  generous  and  holy  hopes  been 
destroyed  ? "  Maggie  knew  the  drift  of  his 
thoughts,  and  she  hastened  her  preparations 
for  tea;  for  though  it  is  a  humiliating  thing  to 
admit,  the  most  sacred  of  our  griefs  are  not 
independent  of  mere  physical  comforts.  David's 
and  Maggie's  sorrow  was  a  deep  and  poignant 
one,  but  the  refreshing  tea  and  cake  and  fish 
were  at  least  the  vehicle  of  consolation.  As 
they  ate  they  talked  to  one  another,  and  David's 
brooding  despair  was  for  the  hour  dissipated. 

During  the  days  of  alternating  hope  and  dis 
appointment  following  the  storm  in  which  the 
Promoters  perished,  they  had  not  permitted 
themselves  to  think,  much  less  to  speak  of  a 


THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT.  II 

future  which  did  not  include  those  who  might 
yet  return.  But  hope  was  over.  When  Promo 
ter's  mates  beached  his  boat,  both  David  and 
Maggie  understood  the  rite  to  be  a  funeral  one. 
It  was  not  customary  for  women  to  go  to 
funerals,  but  Maggie,  standing  afar  off,  amid 
the  gray  thick  fog,  had  watched  the  men  drag 
the  unfortunate  craft  "  where  a  boat  ought 
never  to  be  ;  "  and  when  they  had  gone  away, 
had  stood  by  the  lonely  degraded  thing,  and 
felt  as  sad  and  hopeless,  as  if  it  had  been  the 
stone  at  a  grave's  mouth. 

All  the  past  was  past ;  they  had  to  begin  a 
life  set  to  new  methods  and  motives :  "  and  the 
sooner  the  better,"  thought  Maggie,  "  if  fayther 
were  here,  he  wad  say  that." 

"  Davie  ?  " 

"Weel?" 

"  Is  the  tea  gude  ?  And  the  fish,  and  the 
cake  ?  " 

"  Ay,  they're  gude.  I  didna  think  I  was  sae 
hungry.  I'm  maist  'shamed  to  enjoy  them  sae 
hearty." 

"  Life's  wark  wants  life's  food  ;  and  we  canna 
sit  wi'  idle  hands  anither  seven  days.  You 
were  saying  you  had  news,  what  will  it  be  ?  " 


12  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  Ay,  I  had  forgotten.  Willie  Johnson's 
Willie  has  brought  back  wi'  him  a  young  man. 
He  wants  a  quiet  room  to  himsel',  and  there's 
naebody  in  Pittenloch  can  gie  him  ane,  if  it  be 
na  us,  or  the  Widow  Thompson.  He's  offered 
a  crown  a  week  for  ane." 

"You  should  hae  said  instanter  we'd  be 
thankfu'.  My  certie  !  A  crown  a  week,  that's 
a  fair  godsend,  Davie." 

"  The  widow  has  the  first  right  to  the  god 
send  ;  if  shecanna  tak'  it,  she'll  send  it  our  way, 
Maggie." 

"  Davie,  there  is  £50  in  Largo  Bank." 

"  I  ken  that." 

"  You'll  tak'  it.  It  will  gie  you  a'  the  start 
you  need  at  Aberdeen.  Fayther  said  ,£30  a 
year  wad  do,  wi'  a  carefu'  hand  to  guide  it. 
You'll  be  helping  yoursel'  wi'  a  bit  teaching 
afore  it  is  a'  gane." 

"  I'll  no  touch  it.  What  are  you  talking 
aboot  ?  Oor  fayther  saved  it  for  his  auld  age 
and  his  burying." 

"  And  he'll  ne'er  be  auld  now,  Davie !  and 
God  has  found  him  a  grave  that  only  He  kens 
o'  !  I  can  spin,  and  weave,  and  sew,  and  the 
lasses  roun'  aboot  have  keepit  my  needle  aye 


THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT.  13 

busy.  Why  not  ?  I  served  my  time  in  Largo, 
and  I  can  cut  a.  skirt  or  josey,  and  mak'  a  kirk 
gown,  better  than  any  one  nearer." 

"You'll  be  wanting  to  marry  ere  lang, 
Maggie.  Angus  Raith  thinks  much  o'  you  ; 
and  £50  wad  buy  his  share  in  Cupar's  boat.  I 
sail  hae  the  cottage,  and  the  £50  is  to  be  for 
your  wedding  and  plenishing." 

"  This  is  na  a  time  to  talk  o'  wedding,  Davie ; 
and  there  is  na  any  promise  made  to  Angus 
Raith  !  Go  into  Kinkell  the  morn  and  speak 
wi'  the  minister ;  he  is  a  wise  man,  and  we  will 
baith  o'  us  do  the  thing  he  says." 

After  this,  the  conversation  drifted  hither 
and  thither,  until  the  meal  was  finished.  Then 
while  Maggie  tidied  up  the  room,  David 
opened  the  door  and  stood  thoughtfully  within 
its  shadow.  "There's  a  voice  in  the  sea 
to-night,"  he  said  mournfully,  "  and  when  the 
tide  turns  back,  the  wind  will  have  its  way." 

"  Can  you  see  aught  ?  " 

"Naething.  There's  a  heavy  mist  and  a 
thick  smur — but  I  hear  steps  on  the  shingle. 
I'm  thinking  it  will  be  Johnson  wi'  the  stranger 
I  spoke  o'." 

"  Ay,  weel,  I  hae  gotten   my  feet  dressed," 


14  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

and  she  looked  down  with  approval  at  her 
ribbed  gray  stockings,  and  low  shoes,  the  brass 
clasps  of  which  she  had  just  latched. 

David  did  not  answer  her,  for  he  was  bidding 
his  visitors  welcome.  Then  Maggie  turned 
round  with  the  freshly  lit  "  cruisie  "  in  her  hand, 
and  her  eyes  were  caught  by  two  other  eyes, 
and  held  as  if  by  a  spell.  She  was  conscious, 
as  she  stood  blushing,  that  the  stranger  had 
been  astonished  at  her  appearance,  but  she 
certainly  did  not  dream  that  it  was  her  great 
beauty  which  had  for  one  moment  made  him 
incapable  of  controlling  his  sense  of  it.  It  was 
only  one  moment,  in  the  next  he  turned  to 
David,  and  offered  to  pay  him  two  shillings  a 
day  for  the  use  of  his  vacant  room,  and  a  share 
of  his  simple  fare. 

The  interview  lasted  but  a  very  short  time. 
Maggie  said,  she  could  have  the  room  ready 
for  him  by  noon  of  the  following  day,  and  as 
soon  as  the  matter  was  settled,  he  went.  He 
had  not  sat  down,  and  so  every  one  else  had 
remained  standing ;  but  at  the  open  door  he 
caught  Maggie's  eyes  once  more,  and  with  a 
slight  movement  of  adieu  to  her,  he  disap 
peared.  She  trembled,  and  turned  hot  and 


THE  BEACHING  OF  THE  BOAT.  15 

cold,  and  felt  as  if  she  must  cry.     It  was  with 
difficulty  she  hid  her  emotion  from  her  brother, 
who   looked    queerly    at  her    as  he  said,    "  I 
ne'er  saw  any  man  look  like  that  man." 
"  He  had  a  bonnie  braidcloth  cloak  on." 
"  Sae  handsome  and  sae  stately  ;  and  if  kings 
hae  any  grander  way,  there's  nae  wonder  folks 
bow   down  to  them.     I   aye  thocht  that   Dr. 
Balmuto  had    the  maist  compelling  look   wi' 
him  ;    but  I    think  yonder  man  wouldna  fear 
him,  e'en  though  the  doctor  had  on  his  Geneva 
bands  and  his  silk  gown." 
"  What's  his  name,  Davie  ?  " 
"  I  dinna  ken.     I  never  thocht  to  ask  him." 
Then  a  singular  sadness,  one  quite  distinct 
from    the    shadow    of    their    known    sorrow, 
settled  upon  both  brother  and  sister.     Was  it 
a  sorrow  of  apprehension  ?  one  of  those  divina 
tions   which   we  call   presentiments.     Neither 
David    nor  Maggie  questioned  it ;   they  were 
not  given  to  analyzing  their  feelings,   indeed 
they  were  totally  unacquainted  with  this  most 
useless  of  mental  processes. 

But  nevertheless,  the  stranger  had  left  an 
influence,  and  for  half  an  hour  they  sat  silently 
musing.  Maggie  was  the  first  to  break  its 


1 6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

spell.  In  a  low  voice,  as  she  bent  lower  to  the 
dying  fire,  she  began  to  talk  of  the  dead  for 
whom  "  God  had  found  graves ;  "  and  to  recall 
little  incidents  of  their  hard  unselfish  lives, 
which  particularly  touched  David's  and  her 
own  experience. 

"  If  they  were  here  to-night,  Davie — oot  on 
the  dark  sea — tossed  up  and  down — pulling  in 
the  nets  or  lines  wi*  freezing  hands — hungry, 
anxious,  fearfu'  o'  death — wad  we  wish  it  ?  " 

"  Na,  na,  na,  Maggie  !  Where  they  are  noo, 
the  light  doesna  fade,  and  the  heart  doesna 
fail,  and  the  full  cup  never  breaks.  Come,  let 
us  ask  o'  the  Book  thegither.  I  dinna  doot, 
but  we  sail  get  just  the  word  we  are  needing." 

Maggie  rose  and  took  it  from  its  place  on 
the  broad  shelf  by  the  window,  and  laid  it 
down  upon  the  table.  David  lifted  the  light 
and  stood  beside  her.  Then  with  a  reverent 
upward  glance,  he  opened  the  well-used 
leaves : — 

"  Maggie,  what  need  we  mair  ?  Listen  to  the 
word  o'  the  Lord ; "  and  with  a  voice  tender 
and  triumphant  he  read  aloud — 

"  Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet :  so 
He  bringetJi  them  unto  their  desired  haven" 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST. 

"  She  was  a  form  of  life  and  light, 
That  seen,  became  a  part  of  sight ; 
And  rose  where'er  I  turned  mine  eye, 
The  Morning  Star  of  Memory." 

"  Thou  art  more  than  all  the  shrines  that  hold  thee." 

THE  next  morning  was  a  very  stormy  one; 
there  was  an  iron-gray  sky  above  a  black 
tumbling  sea ;  and  the  rain,  driven  by  a  mad 
wind,  smote  the  face  like  a  blow  from  a  pas 
sionate  hand.  The  boats  were  all  at  anchor, 
with  no  prospect  of  a  fishing  that  day ;  and 
the  fishermen,  gathered  in  little  groups,  were 
muttering  over  the  bad  weather.  But  their 
talk  was  not  bitter,  like  the  complaints  which 
landsmen  make  over  leveled  crops.  Regarding 
every  thing  that  happened  as  the  result  of 
righteous  decree,  why  should  they  rail  at  dis 
appointment  or  misfortune?  Some  went 
slowly  to  a  shed  where  boats  were  being  built  ; 


1 8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

others  sat  down  within  the  doors  of  their 
cottages  and  began  to  knit  their  nets,  or  to 
mend  such  as  were  out  of  order. 

David  could  take  a  landward  route  to  Kin- 
kell,  among  the  shore  rocks  ;  for  though  the 
path  was  often  a  mere  footing,  it  was  well 
known  to  him  ;  and  as  for  the  stormy  weather, 
it  seemed  only  a  part  of  the  darker  and  fiercer 
tempest  in  his  own  soul.  He  left  Maggie 
early.  She  watched  him  climbing  with  bent 
head  the  misty  heights,  until  a  projecting  rock 
hid  him  from  view ;  then  she  went  back  to  her 
household  duties. 

The  first  one  was  to  prepare  the  room  she  had 
rented  for  its  strange  guest,  and  it  gave  her 
many  a  pang  to  fold  away  .the  "kirk  clothes  " 
of  her  father  and  brothers  and  lock  them  from 
sight  in  the  big  "kist"that  was  the  family 
wardrobe.  For  clothing  has  a  woeful  individu 
ality,  when  we  put  it  away  forever;  and  the 
shoes  of  the  dead  men  had  a  personality  that 
almost  terrified  her.  How  pitiful,  how  forsaken, 
how  almost  sentient  they  looked  !  Blind  with 
tears,  she  hid  them  from  sight,  and  then  turned, 
as  the  bereaved  must  ever  turn,  back  to  the  toil 
and  need  of  daily  life. 


THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  19 

There  was  but  one  window  in  the  room,  a  little 
one  opening  on  hinges,  and  glazed  with  small 
diamond-shaped  bits  of  glass.  The  driving 
storm  had  washed  it  clean,  she  hung  a  white 
curtain  before  it,  and  brought  from  the  living 
room  a  pot  of  scarlet  geranium,  and  a  great  sea 
shell,  from  whose  mouth  hung  a  luxuriant  musk 
plant.  Its  cool  fragrance  filled  the  room,  and 
gave  an  almost  dainty  feeling  to  the  spotless- 
ness  of  the  deal  furniture  and  the  homespun 
linen.  Before  the  turf  fire  there  was  a  square 
of  rag  carpet,  and  the  bits  of  blue  and  scarlet 
in  it  were  pretty  contrasts  to  the  white  wood 
of  the  chairs  and  table. 

The  stranger  was  to  have  come  about  noon, 
but  it  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when  he 
arrived.  The  storm  was  then  nearly  over,  and 
there  was  a  glint  of  watery  sunshine  athwart 
the  cold,  green,  tossing  sea.  Maggie  had  grown 
anxious  at  his  delay,  and  then  a  little  cross. 
At  two  o'clock  she  gave  a  final  peep  into  the 
room  and  said  to  herself, — "  I'll  just  get  on  wi' 
my  wark,  let  him  come,  or  let  him  bide  awa'. 
I  canna  waste  my  time  waiting  for  folk  that 
dinna  ken  the  worth  o'  time." 

So  when  her  lodger  stood  at  her  door  she 


20  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

was  at  her  baking  board,  and  patting  the  cakes 
so  hard,  that  she  did  not  hear  him,  until  he  said, 
"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Promoter." 

Then  she  turned  sharply  around,  and  an 
swered,  "Maggie  Promoter,  if  it  please  you,  sir." 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  gravely,  "  good  after 
noon,  Maggie.  Is  your  brother  at  home  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  he's  awa' to  Kinkell.  Your  room 
is  ready  for  you,  sir." 

As  she  spoke  she  was  rubbing  the  meal  from 
her  hands,  and  he  stood  watching  her  with  de 
light.  He  had  wondered  if  her  beauty  would 
bear  the  test  of  daylight,  or  if  it  needed  the 
broad  shadows,  and  the  dull  glow  of  the  burning 
turf  and  the  oil  cruisie.  But  she  stood  directly 
in  the  band  of  sunshine,  and  was  only  the  more 
brilliantly  fair  for  it.  He  was  not  in  love  with 
her,  he  was  sure  of  that,  but  he  was  interested 
by  a  life  so  vivid,  so  full  of  splendid  color,  grace, 
and  vitality. 

With  a  little  pride  she  opened  the  door  of 
his  room,  and  stirred  up  the  glowing  peats,  and 
put  the  big  rush  chair  before  them, — "And  you 
can  just  call  me,  sir,  when  you  want  aught,"  she 
said,  "  I'll  go  ben  noo,  and  finish  my  cake 
baking." 


THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  21 

"Maggie,  this  room  is  exactly  what  I  wanted; 
so  clean  and  quiet !  I'm  much  obliged  to  you 
for  allowing  me  to  use  it." 

"  You  pay  siller,  sir,  and  there's  nae  call  to 
say  thank  you !  "  With  the  words  she  closed 
the  door,  and  was  gone.  And  somehow,  the 
tone  of  reserve  and  the  positive  click  of  the 
latch  made  him  feel  that  there  would  be  limits 
he  could  not  pass. 

In  a  couple  of  hours  he  heard  the  little  stir 
of  David's  return,  and  the  preparation  for  tea. 
Maggie  brought  his  table  to  the  fireside  and 
covered  it  with  a  square  of  linen,  and  set  upon 
it  his  cup  and  plate.  He  had  a  book  in  his 
hand  and  he  pretended  to  be  absorbed  in  it ; 
but  he  did  not  lose  a  movement  that  she  made. 

"  Your  tea  is  a'  ready,  sir." 

He  lifted  his  eyes  then,  and  again  her  clear 
candid  gaze  was  caught  by  his  own.  Both  were 
this  time  distinctly  conscious  of  the  meeting, 
and  both  were  for  the  moment  embarrassed. 

"  It  looks  good,  Maggie,  and  I  am  hungry. 
Is  your  brother  back?  " 

"  David  is  hame,  sir.  It  was  a  hard  walk  he 
had.  He's  tired,  I'm  thinking." 

The  last  words  were  said  more  to  herself  than 


22  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

to  her  lodger.  She  was  somewhat  troubled  by 
Davie's  face  and  manner.  He  had  scarcely 
spoken  to  her  since  his  return,  but  had  sat 
thinking  with  his  head  in  his  hands.  She 
longed  to  know  what  Dr.  Balmuto  had  said  to 
him,  but  she  knew  David  would  resent  question 
ing,  and  likely  punish  her  curiosity  by  restrain 
ing  confidence  with  her  for  a  day  or  two.  So 
she  spoke  only  of  the  storm,  and  of  the  things 
which  had  come  into  her  life  or  knowledge 
during  his  absence. 

"Kirsty  Wilson  has  got  a  sweetheart,  David, 
and  her  no  sixteen  yet." 

"  Kirsty  aye  thocht  a  lad  was  parfect  salva 
tion.  You  shallna  be  mair  than  civil  to  her. 
She  has  heard  tell  o'  the  man  staying  wi'  us. 
It  wad  be  that  brought  her  here  nae  doot." 

"  She  was  not  here  at  a'.  Maggie  Johnson 
telled  me.  Maggie  cam'  to  borrow  a  cup  o' 
sugar.  She  said  Cupar's  boat  tried  to  win  out 
o'  harbor  after  the  storm.  It  could  not  manage 
though." 

"  It  was  wrang  to  try  it.  Folks  shouldna 
tempt  Providence." 

"  The  cakes  baked  weel  to-day." 

"Ay,  they  are  gude  eating." 


THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  23 

Then  she  could  think  of  nothing  more  to  say, 
and  she  washed  the  cups,  and  watched  the 
dark,  sad  man  bending  over  the  fire.  A  vulgar 
woman,  a  selfish  woman,  would  have  inter 
rupted  that  solemn  session  at  her  hearth.  She 
would  have  turned  Inquisitor,  and  tortured  him 
with  questions.  "What's  the  matter?"  "Is 
there  anything  wrong?"  "Are  you  sick?" 
etc.,  etc.  But  when  Maggie  saw  that  her 
brother  was  not  inclined  to  talk  to  her,  she  left 
him  alone  to  follow  out  the  drift  of  his  own 
thoughts.  He  seemed  unconscious  of  her 
presence,  and  when  her  active  house  duties 
were  over,  she  quietly  pulled  her  big  wheel  for 
ward,  and  began  to  spin. 

The  turfs  burned  red,  the  cruisie  burned  low, 
the  wheel  "  hummed "  monotonously,  and 
Maggie  stepped  lightly  to-and-fro  before  it.  In 
an  hour  the  silence  became  oppressive,  she  was 
sleepy,  she  wished  Davie  would  speak  to  her. 
She  laid  her  fingers  on  the  broad  wooden  band 
and  was  just  going  to  move,  when  the  inner 
door  was  opened,  and  the  stranger  stood  at  it. 
His  pause  was  but  a  momentary  one,  but  the 
room  was  all  picture  to  him,  especially  the  tall 
fair  woman  with  her  hand  upon  the  big  wheel, 


24  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

and  her  face,  sensitive  and  questioning,  turned 
toward  her  brother. 

"  David  Promoter." 

"Ay,  sir."  He  moved  slowly  like  a  man 
awakening  from  a  sleep,  but  very  quickly  shook 
off  the  intense  personality  of  his  mood,  and 
turned  to  the  stranger  with  a  shy  and  yet  keen 
alertness. 

"  I  dinna  ken  your  name,  sir,  or  I  wad  call 
you  by  it." 

"  My  name  is  Allan  Campbell." 

"  Sit  down,  sir.  You  are  vera  welcome.  Can 
I  do  aught  to  pleasure  you?" 

"  I  want  my  trunk  from  Largo.  Yesterday 
the  sea  was  too  heavy  to  bring  it.  Can  you  get 
it  for  me  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  An'  the  sea  be  willing,  sir." 

"There  is  a  box  of  books  also,  but  they 
are  very  heavy." 

"  Books !  We'll  try  and  bring  them  ony 
way." 

"  You  love  books  then  ?  " 

"  Better  than  bread." 

"  What  have  you  read  ?  " 

"  I  have  read  my  Bible,  and  The  Institutes, 
and  the  Scot's  Worthies,  and  pairt  o'  the  Pil- 


THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  *5 

grim's  Progress.  But  I  didna  approve  o*  John 
Bunyan's  doctrine.  It's  rank  Armenianism." 

"  I  have  just  finished  a  volume  of  Scott's 
poems.  Have  you  read  any  of  them  ?  " 

"  Na,  na ;  I  hae  nae  skill  o'  poetry,  sir,  an*  it 
be  na  the  Psalms  o'  David." 

"  Let  me  read  you  a  stanza,  that  I  think  you 
will  enjoy." 

He  went  for  his  book  and  drew  a  chair  beside 
the  little  light,  and  read  with  a  great  deal  of 
fire  and  feeling  some  passages  from  "  The  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel."  He  was  soon  sensible 
that  he  was  gradually  stirring  in  these  two 
untutored  souls,  feelings  of  which  they  had 
hitherto  been  unconscious.  He  put  more  and 
more  passion  into  the  words,  finally  he  threw 
down  the  book,  and  standing  erect,  recited 
them  with  outstretched  arms  and  uplifted  face. 
When  he  ceased,  David  was  listening  like  one 
entranced  ;  and  Maggie's  knitting  had  fallen  to 
the  floor:  for  she  had  unconsciously  risen,  and 
was  gazing  at  the  speaker  with  a  face  that 
reflected  every  change  of  his  own.  It  was  as 
if  the  strings  of  a  harp  had  snapped,  and  left  the 
souls  of  the  listeners  in  mid-air.  With  an  effort 
the  enthusiasm  was  put  aside,  and  after  a  min- 


26  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

ute's  pause,  David  said,  "  I  ne'er  heard  words 
like  them  words.  Mony  thanks  to  you,  sir.  I'm 
right  glad  it  was  a  Scot  wrote  them  ;  and  he 
murmured  softly — 

"  O  Caledonia  stern  and  wild  ! 
Land  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood, 
Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood." 

Still  it  was  Maggie's  shy,  tremulous  glance  and 
luminous  face,  that  thanked  and  pleased  Camp 
bell  most;  and  he  lifted  the  book  and  went 
away,  almost  as  much  under  the  spell  of  the 
poet,  as  the  two  simple  souls  who  had  heard 
his  music  for  the  first  time. 

There  was  a  moment  or  two  in  which  life 
seemed  strange  to  the  brother  and  sister. 
They  had  much  the  same  feeling  as  those  who 
awaken  from  a  glorious  dream  and  find  sordid 
cares  and  Areary  pains  waiting  for  them.  David 
rose  and  shook  himself  impatiently,  then  began 
to  walk  about  the  narrow  room.  Maggie  lifted 
her  stocking  and  made  an  effort  to  knit,  but  it 
was  a  useless  one.  In  a  few  minutes  she  laid 
it  down,  and  asked  in  a  low  voice,  "  Will  you 
have  a  plate  o'  parritch,  Davie  ?  " 

"  Ay  ;  I'm  hungry,  Maggie  ;  and  he'll  maybe 
like  one  too." 


THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  2^ 

So  the  pan  was  hung  over  the  fire,  and  the 
plates  and  bowls  set ;  and  while  Maggie  scat 
tered  in  the  meal,  and  went  for  the  milk,  Davie 
tried  to  collect  his  thoughts,  and  get  from 
under  the  spell  of  the  Magician  of  his  age. 
And  though  poetiy  and  porridge  seem  far 
enough  apart  Campbell  said  a  hearty  "  thank 
you  "  to  the  offer  of  a  plate  full.  He  wanted 
the  food,  and  it  was  also  a  delight  to  watch 
Maggie  spread  his  cloth,  and  bring  in  the  hot 
savory  dish  of  meal,  and  the  bowl  of  milk. 
For  her  soul  was  still  in  her  beautiful  face,  her 
eyes  limpid  and  bright  as  stars,  and  the  sim 
ple  meal  so  served  reminded  him  of  the  plain 
dignified  feasts  of  the  old  rural  deities.  He 
told  himself  as  he  watched  her,  that  he  was  liv 
ing  a  fairer  idyl  than  ever  poet  dreamed. 

"  Gude  night,  sir,"  she  said  softly,  after  she 
had  served  the  food,  "  you  took  me  into  a  new 
life  the  night,  and  thank  you  kindly,  sir." 

"  It  was  a  joy  to  me,  Maggie.     Good  night." 

She  was  a  little  afraid  to  speak  to  David  ; 
afraid  of  saying  more  than  he  would  approve, 
and  afraid  of  saying  anything  that  would  clash 
with  the  subject  of  his  meditations.  But  she 
could  not  help  noticing  his  restlessness  and  his 


88  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

silence ;  and  she  was  wondering  to  herself, 
"  why  men-folk  would  be  sae  trying  and  con 
trary,"  when  she  heard  him  say — 

"  Grand  words,  and  grand  folk,  Maggie  ;  but 
there  are  far  grander  than  thae  be." 

"  Than  kings,  and  queens,  and  braw  knights 
and  fair  leddies  ?  " 

"  Ay  ;  what  are  thae  to  angels  and  archan 
gels,  powers  and  dominions,  purity,  faith,  hope, 
charity?  Naething  at  a'." 

"  Maybe  :  but  I  wish  I  could  see  them,  and 
I  wish  I  could  see  the  man  who  wrote  anent 
them,  and  I  wish  you  could  write  a  book  like 
it,  Davie." 

"  Me !  I  have  an  ambition  beyond  the  like  o' 
that.  To  be  His  messenger  and  speak  the 
words  o'  truth  and  salvation  to  the  people ! 
Oh  Maggie,  if  I  could  win  at  that  office,  I 
wouldna  envy  king  nor  knight,  no,  nor  the  poet 
himsel'." 

"  Did  you  see  the  minister  ?  " 

"Ay;  bring  your  chair  near  me,  and  I'll  tell 
you  what  he  said.  You'll  be  to  hear  it,  and  as 
weel  now,  as  again." 

"  Surely  he  had  the  kind  word  to-day,  and 
you  that  fu'  o'  sorrow  ?  " 


THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  29 

"  He  meant  to  be  kind.  Surely  he  meant 
to  be  kind.  He  sent  me  word  to  come  up  to 
his  study,  and  wee  Mysie  Balmuto  took  me 
there.  Eh,  Maggie,  if  I  had  a  room  like  that ! 
It  was  fu'  o'  books ;  books  frae  the  floor  to  the. 
roof-place.  He  was  standing  on  the  hearth  wi' 
his  back  to  the  fire,  and  you  ken  hoo  he  looks 
at  folk,  through  and  through.  '  Weel,  Davie/ 
he  said,  '  what's  brought  you  o'er  the  hills 
through  wind  and  rain  pour  ?  Had  you  work 
that  must  be  pushed  in  spite  o'  His  work?' 

"  I  felt  kind  o'  shamed  then  at  my  hurry,  and 
I  said,  '  Doctor,  you'll  hae  heard  tell  o'  the 
calamity  that  has  come  to  our  house  ?  '  And  he 
answered,  '  I  hae  heard  ;  but  we  willna  call  it  a 
calamity,  David,  seeing  that  it  waso'  His  order 
ing.' 

" '  It  was  very  suddent,  sir,'  I  said,  and  he 
lookit  at  me,  and  said,  '  His  messengers  fly 
very  swiftly.  Your  father  was  ready,  and  I  do 
not  think  He  calls  the  young  men,  unless  He 
wants  them.  It  was  not  of  the  dead  you  came 
to  talk  with  me  ?  '  I  said, '  No,  sir,  I  came  to  ask 
you  aboot  Maggie  and  mysel'.' " 

"  Then  I  told  him  hoo  I  longed  to  be  a  minis 
ter,  and  hoo  fayther  and  the  rest  had  planned 


30  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

to  send  me  to  Aberdeen  this  vera  year,  and 
hoo  there  was  still  £50  which  you  wanted  me 
to  take,  and  he  never  said  a  word,  but  just  let 
me  go  blethering  and  blundering  through  the 
story,  till  I  felt  like  I  was  the  maist  selfish  and 
foolish  o'  mortals.  When  I  couldna  find 
anither  word,  he  spake  up  kind  o'  stern 
like—" 

"  What  did  he  say?  You  be  to  tell  me  that 
noo." 

"  He  said,  '  David  Promoter,  you'll  no  dare 
to  touch  the  ,£50  this  year.  Go  back  to  the 
boats,  and  serve  the  Lord  upon  the  sea  for  a 
twelve  months.  Go  back  to  the  boats  and 
learn  how  to  face  hunger,  and  cold,  and  weari 
ness,  with  patience ;  learn  to  look  upon  death, 
and  not  to  fear  him.  Forbye  you  cannot  leave 
your  sister  her  lane.  Lassies  marry  young 
among  your  folk,  and  she'll  need  some  plenish 
ing.  You  would  not  surely  send  her  from  you 
with  empty  hands.  You  cannot  right  your  own 
like  with  wranging  hers,  not  even  by  a  baw 
bee/  " 

"  He  shouldna  hae  said  the  like  o'  that. 
The  siller  isna  mine,  nor  wasna  meant  for  me, 
and  I'll  ne'er  touch  it.  That  I  wont." 


THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  31 

"  Marry  Angus  Raith,  and  tak'  it,  Maggie. 
He  loves  you  weel." 

"  Augus  Raith  isna  to  be  thocht  o',  and  it's 
ill-luck  mixing  wedding  talk  \vi'  death  talk. 
The  minister  is  right ;  whatna  for  are  we  hurry 
ing  up  the  future  ?  Let  us  be  still  and  wait  ; 
good,  as  well  as  evil  comes,  and  us  not  looking 
for  it.  I'm  sorry  you  didna  hae  a  pleasanter 
visit." 

"  It  wasna  just  unpleasant.  I  ken  weel  the 
minister  is  right.  Put  on  a  covering  turf  noo, 
Maggie,  for  the  tide  serves  at  six  o'clock,  and 
I'll  be  awa'  to  Largo  the  morn." 

Maggie  was  up  at  gray  dawn  next  morning, 
while  yet  the  sea  birds  were  dozing  on  their 
perches,  looking  like  patches  of  late  snow  in 
the  crannies  of  the  black  rocks.  There  was  no 
wrath  in  the  tide,  only  an  irresistible  set  shore 
ward.  When  David  was  ready  for  his  break 
fast,  Campbell  was  ready  also ;  he  said  he 
wished  to  go  with  the  boat,  and  David's  face 
lighted  up  with  satisfaction  at  the  proposal. 
And  Maggie  was  not  ill-pleased  to  be  left  alone. 
She  was  restless,  and  full  of  strange  thoughts, 
and  needed  the  calm  and  strength  of  solitude. 

It  was  an   exquisite  morning ;  the  sea  was 


32  A  DA  LIGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

dimpling  and  laughing  in  the  sunrise,  and  great 
flocks  of  hungry  white  sea-birds  were  making 
for  the  Firth.  Maggie  folded  her  plaid  around 
her,  and  walked  to  the  little  pier  to  see  the 
boat  away;  and  as  she  stood  there,  the  wind 
blew  the  kerchief  off  her  head  into  the  water  ; 
and  she  saw  Campbell  lean  forward  and  pick  it 
up,  and  then  nod  back  to  her  an  assurance  of 
its  safety.  She  turned  away  half  angry  at  her 
self  for  the  thrill  of  pleasure  the  trifling  inci 
dent  had  given  her.  "  It's  my  ain  folk  I  ought 
to  be  thinking  o',  and  no  strangers ;  it's  the 
dead,  and  no  the  living  that  ought  to  be  in  my 
heart.  Oh  Maggie  Promoter,  whate'er  has 
come  o'er  you  !  " 

To  such  reflections  she  was  hasting  with  bent 
head  back  to  her  cottage,  and  trying  to  avoid 
a  meeting  with  any  of  the  few  men  and  women 
about  so  early.  But  she  was  soon  sensible  of 
a  rapid  step  following  her,  and  before  she  could 
turn  her  head,  a  large  hand  was  laid  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  Angus  Raith  was  at  her  side. 

"  Sae  you  thocht  to  shun  me,  Maggie." 

"You  arewrang  there,  I  didna  even  see  you, 
Angus." 

"  That's  the  God's  truth.     You  havena  e'en 


AN  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  33 

for  any  body  noo,  but  that  proud,  fine  gentle 
man  that's  staying  wi'  you." 

"  Be  quiet,  Angus.  Hoo  dauryousay  the  like 
o'  that  ?  I  ne'er  saw  the  man's  face  until  yes 
treen  ;  you  shouldna  think  ill  o'  folk  sae  easy." 

"  What  does  he  want  here  amang  fishers  ? 
They  dinna  want  him,  I'm  vera  sure.  There's 
nae  room  for  gentlemen  in  Pittenlock." 

"Ask  him  what  he  wants.  He  pays  for  his 
room  at  Pittenloch  ;  fourteen  white  shillings 
every  week,  he  agreed  wi'  Davie  for." 

"  Fourteen  shillings  !  " 

The  magnitude  of  the  sum  astonished  him. 
He  walked  silently  by  Maggie's  side  until  she 
came  to  her  door-step.  He  was  a  heavy-faced 
Celt  ;  sallow,  and  dark-eyed  ;  with  the  impa 
tient  look  of  a  selfish  greedy  man.  Maggie's 
resolute  stand  at  her  door-stone  angered  him, 
"  I'm  coming  in  a  wee,''  he  said  dourly,  "  there 
are  words  to  be  said  between  us." 

"  You  are  wrang  there  too,  Angus.  I  hae 
neither  this,  nor  that,  to  say  to  you  ;  and  I'm 
busy  the  day." 

"  I  spoke  to  your  fayther  and  your  brother 
Will,  anent  a  marriage  between  us,  and  you 
heard  tell  o'  it." 


34  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  Ay,  they  told  me." 

"  And  you  let  me  walk  wi'  you  frae  the  kirk 
on  the  next  Sabbath. — I'm  no  going  to  be 
jilted,  Maggie  Promoter,  by  you." 

"  Dinna  daur  to  speak  that  way  to  me,  Angus. 
I  never  said  I  wad  wed  you,  and  I  dinna  believe 
I  ever  sail  say  it.  Think  shame  o'  yoursel'  for 
speaking  o'  marrying  before  the  tide  has  washed 
the  footmarks  o'  the  dead  off  the  sea  sands. 
Let  go  my  hand,  Angus." 

"  It  is  my  hand,  and  I'll  claim  it  as  long  as 
you  live.  And  it  will  be  ill  for  any  ither  body 
that  daurs  to  touch  it." 

"  Daurs  indeed  !  I'll  no  be  daured  by  any 
body,  manfolk  or  womanfolk.  You  hae  gi'en 
me  an  insult,  Angus  Raith,  and  dinna  cross  my 
door-stane  any  more,  till  you  get  the  invite  to 
do  so." 

She  stepped  within  her  open  door  and  faced 
him.  Her  eyes  blazed,  her  whole  attitude  was 
that  of  defiance.  The  passions,  which  in  well- 
bred  women  are  educated  clean  down  out  of 
sight,  were  in  Maggie  Promoter's  tongue  tip 
and  finger  tips.  Angus  saw  it  would  not  do  to 
anger  her  further,  and  he  said,  "  I  meant  nae 
harm,  Maggie." 


AN  UNKNOWN  GUEST.  35 

"  I'll  no  answer  you  anither  word.  And 
mind  what  I  told  you.  Dinna  cross  my  door- 
stane.  You'll  get  the  red  face  if  you  try  it." 

She  could  have  shut  the  door,  but  she  would 
have  thought  the  act  a  kind  of  humiliation. 
She  preferred  to  stand  guard  at  its  threshold, 
until  Angus,  with  a  black  scowl  and  some  mut 
tered  words  of  anger,  walked  away.  She 
watched  him  until  he  leaped  into  his  boat  ; 
until  he  was  fairly  out  to  sea.  Then  she  shut 
and  barred  the  door ;  and  sitting  down  in  her 
father's  chair,  wept  passionately ;  wept  as 
women  weep,  before  they  have  learned  the  use- 
lessness  of  tears,  and  the  strength  of  self- 
restraint. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   CAMPBELLS   OF   MERITON. 

"  We  figure  to  ourselves 
The  thing  we  like,  and  then  we  build  it  up 
As  chance  will  have  it,  on  the  rock  or  sand." 

"  About  some  act, 
That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in  it." 

UPON  the  shores  of  Bute,  opposite  the  rug 
ged,  heathery  hills  of  Cowal,  John  Camp 
bell  had  built  himself  a  splendid  habitation. 
People  going  up  and  down  the  Kyles  were  in 
the  habit  of  pointing  out  Meriton  Mansion, 
and  of  asserting  that  the  owner  had  risen  from 
extreme  poverty  to  his  enviable  position. 
There  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  this  story. 
John  Campbell  was  the  youngest  son  of  Camp 
bell  of  Drumloch,  a  gentleman  of  ancient  line 
age,  and  of  considerable  wealth.  Alexander, 
his  elder  son,  inherited  from  him  the  castle  of 
Drumloch  and  the  lands  pertaining  to  the 


THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON.  37 

name  and  the  estate  ;  to  his  younger  son  John 
he  gave  a  large  sum  of  money.  With  this 
money  he  opened  a  shipping  house  on  the 
Broomilaw  of  Glasgow,  and  gradually  built  a 
fleet  of  trading  vessels,  which  traversed  every 
known  sea.  John  Campbell's  name  had  indeed 
become  synonymous  for  enterprise,  wealth  and 
commercial  honor. 

The  tie  between  the  brothers  was  always  an 
affectionate  one ;  and  when  Alexander  died 
early  in  life,  he  left  his  child  and  the  estate  in 
charge  of  John.  The  estate  was  much  embar 
rassed,  the  child  was  a  delicate  girl  of  nine  years. 
But  when  ten  years  had  passed  the  conditions 
of  both  were  changed ;  Mary  Campbell  had 
grown  to  a  sweet  and  charming  womanhood, 
and  Drumloch  had  paid  off  its  last  shilling  of 
mortgage,  and  was  as  desirable  an  estate 
as  could  be  found  in  the  west  of  Scot 
land. 

During  these  ten  years,  one  desire  had  dom 
inated  all  others  in  John  Campbell's  heart — the 
marriage  of  his  son  Allan  to  the  heiress  of 
Drumloch.  It  seemed  to  him  the  most  natural 
of  events,  and  also  the  most  desirable.  It 
would  keep  the  old  family  and  name,  in  the  old 


38  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

home.  It  had  been  his  brother's  dying  wish. 
He  might  buy  his  son  a  much  larger  and  finer 
estate,  but  with  gold  he  could  not  buy  the 
family  associations,  and  the  long,  honorable 
lineage  of  Drumloch.  The  old  keep  could  be 
enlarged  and  beautified ;  the  lands  lying  far 
and  near  could  be  bought  and  added  to  its 
domain ;  and  yet  Allan  could  lawfully  call 
himself,  "  Campbell  of  Drumloch." 

Thus  to  establish  on  a  broader  and  richer 
basis  the  old  home  of  his  fathers  was  the 
grand  object  of  John  Campbell's  life.  He 
thought  of  it  until  it  became  almost  a  sacred 
duty  in  his  eyes.  For  the  Scotsman's  acquisi 
tiveness  is  very  rarely  destitute  of  some  nobler 
underlying  motive.  In  fact,  his  granite  nature 
is  finely  marbled  throughout  with  veins  of 
poetry  and  romance.  His  native  land  is  never 
forgotten.  His  father's  hearth  is  as  sacred  as  an 
altar  in  his  memory.  A  bluebell  or  a  bit  of 
heather  can  bring  tears  to  his  eyes ;  and  the 
lilt  of  a  Jacobite  song  make  his  heart  thrill 
with  an  impossible  loyalty.  Those  who  saw 
John  Campbell  on  the  Broomilaw  would  have 
judged  him  to  be  a  man  indifferent  to  all  things 
but  money  and  bills  of  lading.  Those  who 


THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON.  39 

saw  him  softly  stepping  through  the  old  halls 
of  Drumloch,  or  standing  almost  reverently 
before  the  hard  grim  faces  of  his  ancestors, 
would  have  called  him  an  aristocrat  who  held 
all  things  cheap  but  an  ancient  home  and  a 
noble  family.  His  son  Allan,  as  the  future 
Campbell  of  Drumloch,  was  an  important  person 
in  his  eyes ;  he  took  care  that  he  was  well 
educated,  and  early  made  familiar  with  the 
leisure  and  means  of  a  fine  gentleman.  And 
as  Allan  was  intelligent  and  handsome,  with 
a  stately  carriage  and  courtly  manners,  there 
seemed  no  reason  why  the  old  root  should  not 
produce  a  new  and  far  more  splendid  line. 

When  Mary  Campbell  was  nineteen,  and  her 
estate  perfectly  clear,  it  seemed  to  her  uncle  a 
proper  time  to  consummate  the  hopes  for 
which  he  had  toiled  and  planned.  He  explained 
them  fully  to  his  son,  and  then  said,  "  Now, 
Allan,  go  and  ask  Mary  to  be  your  wife.  The 
sooner  I  see  you  in  your  own  place,  the  hap 
pier  I  shall  be." 

A  spirit  of  contradiction  sprang  up  in  the 
young  man's  heart,  as  soon  as  the  words  were 
uttered.  Probably,  it  was  but  the  development 
of  an  antagonism  that  had  been  lying  latent  for 


40  A  DA  UCHTER  OF  FIFE. 

years.  He  remained  silent  so  long,  that  his 
father's  anger  rose. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say,  sir?  "  he  asked. 
"  A  good  wife  and  an  old  and  honorable  estate 
are  worth  a  few  words  of  acknowledgment." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  Drumloch,  sir." 

John  Campbell  turned  white,  and  the  paper 
in  his  hand  shook  violently. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  I 
have  been  working  ten  years  for  a  disappoint 
ment  ?  I  will  not  have  ten  years  of  my  life 
wasted  to  pleasure  a  foolish  youth." 

"  Is  it  right  for  me  to  marry  a  woman  I  do 
not  love,  and  so  waste  my  whole  life?" 

A  conversation  begun  in  such  a  spirit  was 
not  likely  to  end  satisfactorily.  Indeed  it 
closed  in  great  anger,  and  the  renewal  of  the 
subject  day  after  day,  only  made  both  men  more 
determined  to  stand  by  the  position  they 
had  taken  toward  each  other.  Allan  almost 
wondered  at  his  own  obstinacy.  Before  his 
father  had  so  broadly  stated  the  case  to  him, 
he  had  rather  liked  his  cousin.  She  was  a 
calm,  cheerful,  sensible  girl,  with  very  beauti 
ful  eyes,  and  that  caressing,  thoughtful  manner 
which  is  so  comfortable  in  household  life.  He 


THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON.  4* 

believed  that  if  he  had  been  left  any  freedom 
of  choice,  he  would  have  desired  only  Mary 
Campbell  to  be  his  wife.  But  he  told  himself 
that  he  would  not  be  ordered  into  matrimony, 
or  compelled  to  sacrifice  his  right  of  choice, 
for  any  number  of  dead-and-gone  Camp 
bells. 

There  was  no  prospect  of  any  reconciliation 
between  father  and  son,  except  by  Allan's 
unconditional  surrender.  Allan  did  not  regard 
this  step  as  impossible  in  the  future,  but  for  the 
present  he  knew  it  was.  He  decided  to  leave 
home  for  a  few  months,  and  when  the  subject 
was  opened  again  to  be  himself  the  person  to 
move  the  question.  He  felt  that  in  the  matter 
of  his  own  marriage  he  ought  at  least  to  make 
the  proposition  ;  it  was  enough  for  his  father 
to  agree  to  it.  The  trouble  had  arisen  from 
the  reversal  of  this  natural  order. 

Mary  had  perceived  that  there  was  dissension 
between  her  uncle  and  cousin,  but  she  had  not 
associated  herself  with  it.  She  was  sure  that 
it  was  about  money,  for  evidently  Allan  had 
lived  an  extravagant  life  when  he  was  abroad. 
So,  when  he  said  to  her  one  morning,  "  Mary, 
father  and  I  cannot  agree  at  present,  and  I 


42  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

think  I  will  go  away  for  a  few  weeks  ;  "  she 
answered, 

"  I  think  you  are  right,  Allan.  If  one  has  a 
hurt,  it  does  not  do  to  be  always  looking  at  it, 
and  touching  it.  If  you  have  a  quarrel  with 
uncle,  let  it  rest,  and  then  it  will  heal.  Do  you 
want — any  money,  Cousin  Allan  ?  I  have 
plenty,  and  I  do  not  use  it." 

She  spoke  shyly  with  hesitation  and  blushes, 
but  he  felt  all  the  kindness  of  the  question. 
He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  At  that 
moment  she  looked  lovely  to  him. 

"  I  have  no  need  of  money,  Mary.  I  only 
ask  for  your  kind  remembrance. 

"That  is  ever  yours.     Do  not  go  far  away." 

"Not  far.     You  shall  hear  from  me  soon." 

The  thought  of  a  correspondence  struck  him 
very  pleasantly.  He  might  thus — if  he  liked 
the  idea  upon  future  reflection — arrange  the 
whole  matter  with  Mary,  and  return  home  as 
her  expected  husband.  That  would  be  a  suffi 
cient  assertion  of  his  own  individuality. 

He  went  to  Edinburgh.  He  had  no  definite 
plan,  only  that  he  felt  a  desire  for  seclusion, 
and  he  knew  fewer  people  in  Edinburgh  than 
in  Glasgow  or  London.  The  day  after  his 


THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON.  43 

arrival  there  he  accompanied  a  casual  acquaint 
ance  to  Leith  pier,  from  which  place  the  latter 
was  going  to  sail  for  London.  As  he  stood 
watching  the  vessel  away,  his  hat  blew  off  and 
a  fisherman  brought  it  back  to  him.  It  was 
Will  Johnson  of  Pittenloch,  and  he  was  not  a 
man  to  whom  Allan  felt  he  could  offer  money. 
But  he  stood  talking  with  him  about  the  Fife 
fishing  towns,  until  he  became  intensely  inter 
ested  in  their  life.  "I  want  to  see  them,"  he 
said  to  Will ;  "  let  me  have  a  couple  of  hours  to 
get  my  trunks,  and  I  will  go  with  you  to  Pitten 
loch." 

There  are  very  few  men  who  have  not  a 
native  longing  for  the  ocean  ;  who  do  not  love 
to  go 

" back  to  the  great,  sweet  Mother, 

Mother  and  lover  of  men,  the  sea  , 

and  Allan  forgot  all  his  annoyances,  as  soon  as 
he  felt  the  bound  of  the  boat  under  him. 
Johnson  had  to  touch  at  Largo,  but  ere  they 
reached  it  the  wind  rose,  and  it  was  with  some 
difficulty  the  harbor  was  made.  But  during 
the  rough  journey  Allan  got  very  near  to  the 
men  in  the  boat ;  he  looked  forward  to  a  stay 
at  Pittenloch  with  pleasure  ;  and  afterward, 


44  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

events  would  doubtless  shape  themselves  better 
than  he  could  at  that  time  determine  them. 

It  had  been  a  sudden  decision,  and  made 
very  much  in  that  spirit  which  leads  men  to 
toss  up  a  penny  for  an  oracle.  And  sometimes 
it  seems  as  if  a  Fate,  wise  or  otherwise,  an 
swers  the  call  so  recklessly  made.  If  he  lived 
for  a  century  Allan  knew  that  he  would  never 
forget  that  first  walk  to  Promoters — the  big 
fisherman  at  his  side,  the  ocean  roaring  in  his 
ears,  the  lights  from  the  cottage  windows  dully 
gleaming  through  the  black  darkness — never 
forget  that  moment  in  which  Maggie  Promoter 
turned  from  the  fire  with  the  "  cruisie  "  in  her 
hand,  the  very  incarnation  of  womanhood, 
crowned  with  perfect  health  and  splendid 
beauty. 

It  was  Allan's  nature  to  drift  with  events,  and 
to  easily  accommodate  himself  to  circum 
stances.  In  France  he  had  been  a  gay,  fashion 
able  trifler ;  in  Germany  cloudy  philosophies 
and  musical  ideas  had  fascinated  him  ;  in  Rome 
he  had  dreamed  in  old  temples,  and  painted 
and  smoked  with  the  artists  in  their  lofty 
shabby  studios.  He  was  equally  ready  to  share 
the  stirring  danger  and  freedom  of  the  fisher's 


THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON.  45 

life,  for  he  was  yet  young  enough  to  feel  delight 
in  physical  exertion,  and  in  physical  danger. 

When  the  boat  went  hammering  through 
cheerless  seas,  and  the  lines  were  heavy  with 
great  ling  fish,  it  was  pleasure  to  match  his 
young  supple  thews  with  those  of  the  strongest 
men.  And  it  was  pleasure,  when  hungry  and 
weary,  to  turn  shoreward,  and  feel  the  smell  of 
the  peat  smoke  on  the  south-west  wind,  bringing 
the  cottage  hearth,  and  the  welcome  meal,  and 
the  beautiful  face  of  Maggie  Promoter  nearer. 
Even  when  the  weather  was  stormy,  and  it  was 
a  hurl  down  one  sea,  and  a  hoist  up  the  next, 
when  the  forty  foot  mast  had  to  be  lowered  and 
lashed  down,  and  the  heavy  mizzen  set  in  its 
place,  Allan  soon  grew  to  enjoy  the  tumult  and 
the  fight,  and  his  hand  was  always  ready  to  do 
its  share. 

Very  soon  after  going  to  the  Promoters  he 
procured  himself  some  suits  of  fishers'  clothing  ; 
and  Maggie  often  thought  when  he  came  in 
from  the  sea,  rosy  and  glowing,  with  his  brown 
hair  wet  with  the  spindrift,  nets  on  his  should 
ers,  or  lines  in  his  hands,  that  he  was  the  hand 
somest  fisher-lad  that  ever  sailed  the  Frith  of 
Forth.  David  and  Allan  were  much  together, 


46  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

for  David  had  gone  back  to  the  boats  as  the 
minister  bade  him,  yet  the  duty  had  been  made 
far  easier  than  he  expected.  For  when  Allan 
understood  how  the  Promoters'  boat  had  failed 
them,  he  purchased  a  fishing  skiff  of  his  own, 
and  David,  and  the  men  whom  David  hired, 
sailed  her  for  her  owner.  David  had  his  cer 
tain  wage,  the  men  had  the  fish,  and  Allan  had 
a  delight  in  the  whole  situation  far  greater 
than  any  mere  pleasure  yacht  could  possibly 
have  given  him. 

Where  there  is  plenty  of  money,  events  do 
not  lag.  In  a  couple  of  months  the  Promoters' 
cottage  was  apparently  as  settled  to  its  new  life 
as  ever  it  had  been  to  the  old  one.  The  "  Allan 
Campbell  "  was  a  recognized  craft  in  the  fishing 
fleet,  and  generally  Allan  sailed  with  her  as 
faithfully  as  if  his  life  depended  upon  the  catch 
ing  of  the  gray  fish.  And  when  the  sea-mood 
was  not  on  him,  he  had  another  all-sufficing 
occupation.  For  he  was  a  good  amateur 
painter,  and  he  was  surrounded  by  studies 
almost  irresistible  to  an  artistic  soul. 

The  simple  folk  of  Pittenloch  looked  du 
biously  at  him  when  he  stood  before  his  easel. 
There  was  to  them  something  wonderful,  myste- 


THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON.  47 

rious,  almost  uncanny,  in  the  life-like  reproduc 
tion  of  themselves  and  their  boats,  their  bits  of 
cottages,  and  their  bare-footed  bairns — in  the 
painted  glimpses  of  the  broad-billowed  ocean ; 
and  the  desolate  old  hills,  with  such  forlorn 
lights  on  their  scarps,  as  the  gloom  of  primeval 
tempests  might  have  cast. 

The  controversy  about  these  bits  of  painted 
canvas  interested  every  one  in  the  village  ; 
for  though  Allan  talked  beautifully  about  "  look 
ing  up  "  through  nature  unto  nature's  God,  it 
was  a  new  doctrine  to  the  Fife  fishers  ;  who  had 
always  looked  for  God  in  their  Bibles,  and  their 
consciences.  Except  in  rare  cases,  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  conceive  how  painting 
might  be  a  Gate  Beautiful  to  the  temple. 

Indeed  Elder  John  Mackelvine,  a  dour,  stern, 
old  Calvinist,  was  of  opinion  that  every  pict 
ure  was  a  breaking  of  the  second  command 
ment. — "  A  makin'  o'  an  image  and  likeness  o' 
the  warks  o'  God,  and  sae,  neither  mair  nor 
less  than  idolatry.  Forbye,  pictur's  are  pair- 
fectly  ridic'lus,"  he  continued  ;  "  what  for,  will 
you  want  the  image  o'  a  thing,  when  you  hae 
the  thing  itsel'  ?  John  Knox  kent  vveel  what  he 
was  doing  when  he  dinged  doon  a'  the  pictur's 


48  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

and  images  in  thae  auld  kirks.  He  kent  men 
were  aye  mair  pleased  to  worship  their  ain 
handywark,  than  the  Creator's." 

David  listened  with  many  misgivings,  but  he 
ventured  to  say  that,  "  there  was  naethocht  o' 
idolatry  in  Allan  Campbell's  heart." 

"  You'll  dootless  ken  a'  aboot  it,  Davie,  " 
answered  Mackelvine  scornfully;  "but  you'll 
no  deny  that  he  was  sae  set  up  wi'  the  pictur* 
he  made  o'  Largo  Bay,  that  he  might  just  as 
weel  hae  bowed  doon  to  it.  The  everlasting 
hills  !  The  everlasting  seas  !  "  said  the  old  fisher 
man,  rising  and  stretching  upward  and  outward 
his  bare,  brown  arm,  "put  them  in  a  paintin' ! 
Pairfect  nonsense !  Even-down  sin  !  " 

From  this  conversation  David  went  directly 
home.  It  was  Saturday  night  and  the  boats  all 
in  harbor  for  the  Sabbath  day.  The  house 
place  was  spotlessly  clean,  the  evening  meal 
waiting.  As  soon  as  David  spoke  to  his  sister, 
Allan  opened  his  door  and  called  him.  "  Come 
here,  David  Promoter,  I  want  to  show  you 
something." 

David  guessed  that  it  was  a  new  picture,  and 
he  went  a  little  reluctantly. 

"  This  is  an  '  interior ',  David,"  he  said  excit- 


THE  CAMPBELLS  OF  MERITON.  49 

edly ;  "  it  is  the  first  I  have  ever  tried,  and  I  am 
so  pleased  with  the  result ; — what  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

David  slowly  approached  the  easel.  The 
picture  represented  faithfully  the  living  room 
of  his  own  cottage.  All  its  breadths  of  light 
and  shade,  all  its  telling  contrasts,  were  used 
skilfully  as  a  background  for  Maggie.  She 
was  gazing  with  a  white  anxious  face  out  of  the 
little  window  seaward,  watching  the  gathering 
storm,  and  the  fishing  boats  trying  to  make  the 
harbor  through  it. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  David  ?  " 
"  It  is  wonderfu',  sir  ;  but  I  dinna  approve  o* 
it.  I  think  you  will  hae  nae  right  i;o  put  the 
fear  o'  death  and  dool,  and  the  breaking  hearts 
o'  women  into  a  pictur'.  Forbye,  you  might 
sell  it,  and  I  wouldna  like  my  sister — no  to 
speak  o'  my  hame — to  be  turned  into  siller. 
And  there's  mair  to  say,  sir.  Some  o'  oor  folk 
think  it  isna  lawfu'  in  the  sight  o'  God  to  mak' 
the  image  o'  anything;  and  seeing,  sir,  that  I 
humbly  hope  some  day  to  stand  upon  the  altar 
steps,  it  would  ill  become  me  to  hurt  the  con 
science  o'  auld  or  young.  I  must  walk  circum 
spect  for  the  vera  hope's  sake." 


50  A  DA  UG PITER  OF  FIFE. 

"  I  never  thought  of  selling  a  picture,  David; 
I  would  not  sell  one  with  your  sister  in  it,  for 
all  the  gold  in  Scotland.  And  this  is  the  first 
time  I  have  heard  of  your  intention  regarding 
the  ministry.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me 
before  ?  How  gladly  I  would  have  helped 
you !  " 

"  It  is  a  hope  I  dinna  let  mysel'  think  o'  just 
yet,  sir.  Dr.  Balmuto  bid  me  bide  in  the  boats 
for  a  twelve  months,  and,  you  ken,  I  couldna 
leave  Maggie  her  lane,  here." 

"  Perhaps  Maggie  will  marry."  He  dropped 
each  word  slowly,  as  if  it  gave  him  pain. 

"  Ay  ;  I  hope  she  will.  There  was  mair  than 
one  word  spoken  aboot  a  lad  in  the  village  ; 
but  after  oor  great  loss,  she  wouldna  hear  tell 
o'  any  lad  ;  and  the  minister  thocht  we  might 
weel  wait  thegither  for  one  year  onyway. 
He'd  be  right,  dootless." 

"  David,  after  tea  let  us  take  a  walk  on  the 
beach  together.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS. 

"  What  thing  thou  doest,  bravely  do  ; 

When  Heaven's  clear  call  hath  found  thce." 

"  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame." 

IT  was  an  exquisite  evening  toward  the  end 
of  May ;  with  a  purple  sunset  brightening 
the  seaward  stretches,  and  the  gathering  herring 
fleet  slowly,  drifting  in  the  placid  harbor. 
They  walked  silently  toward  a  little  rocky 
promontory,  and  there  sat  down.  Allan's  face 
was  turned  full  toward  his  companion. 

"David,"  he  said,  "  I  have  lived  with  you  ten 
weeks;  slept  under  your  roof,  and  eaten  of 
your  bread.  I  want  you  to  remember  how 
many  happy  hours  we  have  spent  together. 
At  your  fireside,  where  I  have  read  aloud,  and 
Maggie  and  you  have  listened — " 


52  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  Ay,  sir.  We  hae  had  some  fine  company 
there.  Poets,  preachers,  great  thinkers  and 
warkers  o'  all  kinds.  I'll  ne'er  forget  thae 
hours." 

"  Happy  hours  also,  David,  when  we  have 
drifted  together  through  starlight  and  moon 
light,  on  the  calm  sea  ;  and  happy  hours  when 
we  have  made  harbor  together  in  the  very 
teeth  of  death.  I  owe  to  you,  David,  some  of 
the  purest,  healthiest  and  best  moments  of  my 
life.  I  like  to  owe  them  to  you.  I  don't  mind 
the  obligation  at  all.  But  I  would  be  glad  to 
show  you  that  I  am  grateful.  Let  me  pay  your 
university  fees.  Borrow  them  of  me.  I  am  a 
rich  man.  I  waste  upon  trifles  and  foolishness 
every  year  more  than  enough.  You  can  give 
me  this  great  honor  and  pleasure,  David  ;  don't 
let  any  false  pride  stand  between  us."  He  laid 
his  hand  upon  David's  hand,  and  looked 
steadily  in  his  face  for  the  answer. 

"  God,  dootless,  put  the  thocht  in  your  heart. 
I  gie  Him  and  you  thanks  for  it.  And  I'll  be 
glad  o'  your  help.  Dr.  Balmuto  spake  o'  a 
year  in  the  boats  ;  when  it  is  gane  I'll  tak'  your 
offer,  sir." 

"You  must  not  wait  a  year,  David.     You 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  53 

must  try  and  be  ready  to  go  to  Aberdeen,  or 
Edinburgh,  or  Glasgow  in  the  autumn.  What 
do  you  think  of  Glasgow  ?  The  dear  gray  old 
college  in  the  High  Street !  I  went  there 
myself,  David,  and  I  have  many  friends  among 
its  professors." 

"  I'd  like  Glasca',— fine." 

"  Then  it  shall  be  Glasgow  ;  and  I  will  see 
Dr.  Balmuto.  He  will  not  oppose  your  going, 
I  am  sure." 

"  Aboot  Maggie,  sir?  I  couldna  seek  my 
ain  pleasure  or  profit  at  her  loss.  She  doesna 
tak',  like  other  lasses  do,  to  the  thocht  o'  mar 
riage  ;  and  I  canna  bear  to  say  a  cross  word  to 
her.  She  is  a'  I  have." 

"  There  must  be  some  way  of  arranging  that 
matter.  Tell  Maggie  what  I  have  said,  and 
talk  affairs  over  with  her.  She  will  be  sure  to 
find  out  a  way." 

The  conversation  was  continued  for  hours. 
Every  contingency  was  fully  discussed,  and 
Allan  was  much  pleased  with  David's  prudence 
and  unselfishness.  "  I  think  you  will  make  a 
good  minister,"  he  said,  "  and  we  will  all  yet  be 
very  proud  of  you." 

"  I  sail  do  my  duty,   sir,  all  o'  it.      I  sail 


54  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

neither  spare  sin  nor  sinner.  My  ain  right  eye 
sail  nae  be  dear  to  me,  if  it  wad  win  a  thocht 
frae  His  wark." 

His  pale  face  was  lit  as  by  some  interior 
light ;  his  eyes  full  of  enthusiasm.  He  sat 
asking  questions  concerning  the  manners  and 
methods  of  universities,  the  professors  and 
lectures,  and  books  and  students,  until  the  late 
moon  rose  red  and  solemn,  above  the  sea  and 
sky  line,  and  Allan  knew  then  it  was  almost  mid 
night. 

"  We  must  go  home,  David.  Maggie  will 
wonder  what  has  happened.  We  should  have 
thought  of  her  before  this  hour." 

Indeed  when  they  came  near  the  cottage 
they  saw  Maggie  standing  at  the  door  watching 
for  them.  She  went  in  and  closed  it  as  soon 
as  she  perceived  that  all  was  well,  and  when 
the  laggards  would  have  explained  their  delay, 
she  was  too  cross  to  listen  to  them. 

"  It's  maist  the  Sabbath  day,"  she  said, 
hiding  her  fretfulness  behind  conscientious 
scruples,  as  all  of  us  are  ready  to  do.  "  I  hope 
it  wasna  your  ain  thouchts  and  words  you  were 
sae  ta'en  up  wi' ;  but  I'm  feared  it  was.  You 
wadna  hae  staid  sae  lang,  wi'  better  anes." 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  55 

She  would  not  look  at  Allan,  and  it  pained  him 
to  see  upon  her  face  the  traces  of  anxiety  and 
disappointment. 

Far  through  the  night  he  sat  at  his  open 
window,  gazing  out  upon  the  sea,  which  was 
breaking  almost  below  it.  The  unshed  tears 
in  Maggie's  eyes,  and  her  evident  trouble  at 
his  absence,  had  given  him  a  heart  pain  that  he 
could  not  misunderstand.  He  knew  that  night 
that  he  loved  the  woman.  Not  with  that  low, 
earthy  affection,  which  is  satisfied  with  youth, 
or  beauty  of  form  or  color.  His  soul  clave 
unto  her  soul.  He  longed  to  kiss  her  heavy 
eyes  and  troubled  mouth,  not  because  they 
were  lovely,  but  because  his  heart  ached  to 
soothe  the  sorrow  he  had  given  her,  and  longed 
to  comfort  her  with  happy  hopes  for  the 
future. 

But  he  had  seen  enough  of  these  honest- 
hearted  fisher-women,  to  know  that  the  smallest 
act  of  tenderness  was  regarded  by  them  as  a 
promise.  Of  that  frivolous  abuse  of  the 
sweetest  things  which  is  called  flirtation,  Mag 
gie  had  not  the  faintest  conception.  If  it  could 
have  been  explained  to  her,  she  would  have 
recoiled  from  it  with  shame  and  indignation. 


56  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

She  would  not  have  comprehended  that  a  man 
should  admire  her,  and  tell  her  that  he  loved 
her,  unless  he  intended  to  make  her  his  wife. 

And  Allan  was  not  prepared  to  admit  this 
conclusion  to  the  intercourse  which  had  been 
so  sweet,  so  inexpressibly  sweet.  He  knew 
that  her  simple  presence  was  a  joy  to  him.  He 
could  see  that  her  shining  eyes  grew  brighter 
at  his  approach,  and  that  her  face  broke  up 
like  happy  music  as  he  talked  to  her.  "  She  is 
the  other  half  of  my  own  soul,"  he  said,  "and 
my  life  can  never  be  complete  without  her. 
But  what  a  mockery  of  Fate  to  bring  us 
together.  I  cannot  fall  to  her  station ;  I  can 
not  raise  her  to  mine.  I  ought  to  go  away, 
and  I  will.  In  a  little  while  she  will  forget 
me." 

The  thought  angered  and  troubled  him ;  he 
tossed  restlessly  to  and  fro  until  daybreak,  and 
then  fell  into  a  heavy  slumber.  And  he  dreamed 
of  Mary  Campbell.  His  heart  was  full  of  Mag. 
gie,  but  he  dreamed  of  Mary  ;  and  he  wondereci 
at  the  circumstance,  and  though  he  was  hardly 
conscious  of  the  fact,  it  made  him  a  trifle 
cooler  and  more  restrained  in  his  intercourse 
with  Maggie.  And  Maggie  thought  of  her  bad 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  57 

temper  the  previous  night,  and  she  was  ashamed 
and  miserable. 

At  irregular  intervals,  as  occasion  served,  he 
had  gone  into  Edinburgh,  and  when  there,  he 
had  always  made  an  opportunity  for  writing  to 
Meriton.  Mary  therefore  concluded  that  he 
was  staying  in  Edinburgh,  and  John  Campbell 
did  not  fret  much  over  the  absence  of  a  son 
who  could  be  recalled  easily  in  a  few  hours. 
He  understood  that  Allan  was  in  correspond 
ence  with  his  Cousin  Mary,  and  he  would  not 
admit  a  doubt  of  the  final  settlement  of  the 
Drumloch  succession  in  the  way  he  desired. 

And  undoubtedly  the  result  of  Allan's  long 
self-examination  was  a  resolve  to  tear  himself 
away  from  Maggie  Promoter,  and  return  to  his 
home  and  his  evident  duty.  He  could  show 
his  regard  for  the  Promoters  by  interesting 
himself  in  David's  advancement.  Maggie 
would  understand  his  motives.  She  would 
know  what  he  suffered  by  her  own  sufferings, 
but  the  weary  ache  would  die  out  finally,  and 
leave  only  in  each  heart  a  tender  memory  which 
perhaps  they  might  carry  into  another  life,  "  if 
both  should  not  forget."  He  almost  wept  as 
he  made  this  mental  funeral  of  his  dearest 


58  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

hopes ;  yet  he  made  it  frequently  during  the 
following  days,  and  he  was  making  it  so 
earnestly  as  he  walked  into  Kinkell  to  see  Dr. 
Balmuto,  that  he  was  at  the  manse  before  he 
had  realized  that  he  was  on  the  road  to  it. 

The  doctor  had  seen  him  frequently  in  Kirk, 
but  always  in  such  clothes  as  the  fishers  wore. 
He  glanced  at  the  elegantly  dressed  young 
man  and  recognized  him.  Then  he  lifted  the 
card  which  Allan  had  sent  in  as  his  introduc 
tion,  and  said  sharply,  "  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Campbell.  I  have  seen  you  often  lately — in 
fisher's  dress.  I  hope  you  have  a  good  reason 
for  the  masquerade,  for  let  me  tell  you,  I  know 
something  of  John  Campbell,  your  father,  and 
I  doubt  if  you  have  his  approval." 

"  I  must  ask  you,  doctor,  to  take  my  motives 
on  trust  for  the  present.  I  assure  you  I  think 
they  are  good  ones.  But  I  came  here  this 
morning  to  speak  of  David  Promoter.  I  have 
been  staying  with  him  for  some  weeks.  I 
respect  and  admire  him.  I  desire  out  of  my 
abundance  to  help  him." 

"  He  is  a  proud  lad.  I  doubt  if  he  will  let 
you." 

"  He  is  quite  willing  that  I  should  have  this 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  59 

pleasure,  if  he  has  your  permission.  I  wish  him 
to  go  to  Glasgow  this  autumn  ;  he  says  you 
told  him  to  stay  in  the  boats  for  a  year." 

"  I  did ;  but  I  may  have  made  a  mistake.  I 
thought  he  was  a  little  uplifted  with  himself. 
He  spoke  as  if  he  were  needful  to  the  church — - 
but  the  lad  may  have  felt  the  spirit  in  him.  I 
would  not  dare  to  try  and  quench  it.  Your 
offer  is  a  providence ;  it  is  as  if  God  put  out 
his  own  hand  and  opened  the  kirk  door  for 
him.  Tell  David  Promoter  I  said,  'Go  to 
Glasgow,  and  the  Lord  go  with  thee.'  But 
what  is  to  come  of  his  sister?  She  is  a  very 
handsome  girl,"  and  he  looked  sharply  at  Allan, 
"  is  she  going  to  marry  ?  " 

"  I  have  asked  nothing  concerning  that  ques 
tion,  sir." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that ;  glad 
for  her  sake,  glad  for  yours  also." 

Then  the  subject  of  the  Promoters  was  grad 
ually  dropped ;  although  Allen  spent  the  day 
at  Kinkell  manse.  For  the  doctor  was  a 
man  with  a  vivid  mind.  Though  he  was  old 
he  liked  to  talk  to  young  men,  liked  to  hear 
them  tell  of  their  studies,  and  friendships,  and 
travels,  and  taste  through  their  eager  conversa- 


60  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

tion  the  flavor  of  their  fresher  life.  Allan 
remained  with  him  until  near  sunset,  then  in 
the  warm,  calm  gloaming,  he  slowly  took  the 
homeward  route,  down  the  precipitous  crags 
and  hills. 

At  a  sudden  turn  of  the  path  near  the  beach, 
he  saw  Maggie.  She  sat  upon  a  rock  so  directly 
beneath  him  that  he  could  have  let  his  hand 
kerchief  fall  into  her  lap.  Her  arms  were 
dropped,  her  attitude  listless ;  without  seeing 
her  face,  Allan  was  certain  that  her  eyes  were 
sad,  and  her  long  gaze  at  the  incoming  tide  full 
of  melancholy.  He  was  just  going  to  speak, 
when  he  saw  a  man  coming  toward  her  at  a 
rapid  pace.  It  was  Angus  Raith,  and  Allan 
was  conscious  of  a  sharp  pang  of  annoyance 
and  jealousy. 

He  had  no  intention  to  watch  them,  neither 
had  he  any  desire  to  meet  Angus  while  he  was 
with  Maggie.  That  would  have  been  a  little 
triumph  for  Angus,  which  Allan  did  not  intend 
to  give  him.  So  he  determined  to  remain 
where  he  was  until  they  had  either  parted  or 
gone  away  together.  He  was  undoubtedly 
angry.  It  never  struck  him  that  the  meeting 
might  be  an  accidental  one.  He  was  certain 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  61 

that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  Maggie  had  an 
appointment  with  her  well-known  admirer ;  and 
he  said  bitterly  to  himself,  "  Like  to  like,  why 
should  I  have  the  heart-ache  about  her?" 

The  sound  of  their  voices,  in  an  indistinct,  fit 
ful  way,  reached  him  where  he  sat.  At  first 
there  was  nothing  peculiar  in  the  tone,  but  in  a 
few  minutes  it  was  evident  that  Maggie  was 
getting  angry.  Allan  rose  then  and  went 
slowly  toward  them.  Where  the  hill  touched 
the  beach  it  terminated  in  a  point  of  jagged 
rocks  about  seven  feet  high.  Maggie  and 
Angus  stood  on  one  side  of  them,  Allan  on  the 
other.  He  was  as  yet  unseen,  but  half-a-dozen 
steps  would  bring  them  together.  Maggie  was 
by  this  time  in  a  passion. 

"  It  is  weel  for  you,  Angus  Raith,  that  my 
fayther  is  at  the  bottom  o'  the  sea,"  she  said. 
"If  Will  was  alive,  or  John,  or  Sandy,  this  day, 
ye  hadna  daured  to  open  your  ill  mouth  to  me." 

"Why  dinna  you  tell  your  fine  brother  Davie  ?" 

"  Davie  is  aboon  sorting  the  like  o'  you.  Do 
you  think  I  wad  hae  hands  that  are  for  the  Ordi 
nances  touch  you,  you — born  deevil?" 

"  Tell  Maister  Allan  Campbell  then.  If  a's 
true  that's  said  to  be  true — " 


62  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"Dinna  say  it,  Angus!  Dinna  say  it!  I 
warn  you  to  keep  a  still  tongue  in  your  head." 

"  If  he  isna  your  man,  he  ought  to  be." 

In  a  moment  she  had  struck  him  on  the 
mouth  a  blow  so  swift  and  stinging  that  it  stag 
gered  him.  Allan  heard  it  ;  he  stepped  quickly 
forward  and  put  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 
She  was  quivering  like  a  wounded  bird.  But 
she  drew  herself  proudly  away  from  Allan's 
touch  and  faced  Angus  in  a  blaze  of  scornful 
passion. 

"  Ay  ;  strike  me  back !  It  wad  be  like  you  !  " 
For  the  first  impulse  of  the  man  on  recovering 
himself  had  been  to  raise  his  hand.  "  But  I'd 
rayther  you  struck  me  dead  at  your  feet,  than 
to  be  your  wife  for  ane  five  minutes." 

Angus  laughed  mockingly.  "You  kent  wha 
was  behind  the  rock  dootless  !  the  blank — 

blank — blank  fine  gentleman  !  The the — 

— the "  and  a  volley  of  epithets  and  impre 
cations  followed  which  made  Maggie  put  her 
hands  to  her  ears. 

"Let  me  take  you  home."  It  was  Allan 
who  spoke,  and  again  he  laid  his  hand  gently 
upon  her.  She  shook  it  angrily  off.  "  Dinna 
touch  me,  sir!"  she  cried,"!  hae  had  scorn 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  63 

and  sorrow  in  plenty  for  you.  I  can  tak'  my* 
sel'  hame  finely;"  and  she  walked  rapidly 
away  with  her  head  flung  proudly  backward. 

The  girl  had  never  been  taught  to  control 
her  feelings.  She  was  a  natural  woman  suffer 
ing  under  a  sense  of  insult  and  injustice,  and 
resenting  it.  And  she  was  angry  at  Allan  for 
being  a  witness  to  her  emotion.  His  very 
calmness  had  seemed  like  a  reproof  to  her. 
Wrath,  chagrin,  shame,  resentment,  swept  in 
hot  passionate  waves  over  her ;  and  the  very 
intensity  of  her  mental  anguish  imparted  to 
her  body  a  kind  of  majesty  that  perforce  com 
manded  respect. 

Never  had  Allan  thought  her  so  beautiful. 
The  words  of  irrevocable  devotion  were  on  his 
lips.  But  at  that  moment  had  he  been  king  of 
Scotland,  Maggie  Promoter  would  not  have 
stayed  to  listen  to  them.  So  he  turned  to 
Angus.  The  man,  with  an  insolent,  defiant 
face,  stood  leaning  against  the  rock.  He  had 
taken  out  his  pipe,  and  with  an  assumption  of 
indifference  was  trying  to  light  it.  Every  trick 
of  self-defence  was  known  to  Allan.  He  could 
have  flung  Angus  to  the  ground  as  easily  as  a 
Cumberland  shepherd  throws  the  untrained 


64  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

wrestler,  but  how  little  honor,  and  how  much 
shame,  there  would  be  in  such  an  encounter ! 
He  looked  steadily  at  the  cowardly  bully  for  a 
moment,  and  then  turning  on  his  heel,  followed 
Maggie.  The  mocking  laugh  which  Angus 
sent  after  him,  did  not  move  any  feeling  but 
contempt ;  he  was  far  more  anxious  to  comfort 
and  conciliate  the  suffering,  angry  woman, 
than  to  revenge  himself  upon  so  despicable  an 
enemy. 

But  when  he  arrived  at  the  cottage  the  door 
was  shut.  This  was  so  rarely  its  condition 
that  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  Maggie  had 
intentionally  put  him  away  from  her  presence. 
He  was  miserable  in  his  uncertainty,  he  longed 
to  comfort  the  womanhood  he  had  heard  out 
raged,  but  he  was  not  selfish  enough  to  intrude 
upon  a  desired  solitude,  although  as  he  slowly 
walked  up  and  down  before  the  closed  door,  he 
almost  felt  the  chafing  of  the  wounded  heart 
behind  it. 

And  Maggie,  in  all  her  anger  and  humilia 
tion,  was  not  insensible  to  Allan's  position. 
As  she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  and  wept  and 
moaned  without  restraint,  she  was  conscious  of 
the  man  who  respected  her  unjust  humiliation 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  65 

too  much  to  intrude  upon  it,  even  with  his 
sympathy :  who  comprehended  her  so  well,  as 
to  understand  that  even  condolence  might  be 
an  additional  offence.  She  could  not  have  put 
the  feeling  into  words,  and  yet  she  clearly 
understood  that  there  are  some  sorrows  which 
it  is  the  truest  kindness  to  ignore. 

In  about  half-an-hour  the  first  vehemence  of 
her  grief  was  over.  She  stood  up  and  smoothly 
snooded  back  her  hair;  she  dried  her  eyes,  and 
then  looked  cautiously  out  of  the  window.  In 
the  dim  light,  Allan's  tall  graceful  figure  had  a 
commanding  aspect,  greatly  increased  in  Mag 
gie's  eyes  by  the  fashionable  clothing  he  wore 
that  day.  As  she  watched  him,  he  stood  still 
and  looked  toward  the  sea ;  and  his  attitude 
had  an  air  of  despondency  that  she  could  not 
endure  to  witness.  She  went  to  the  door,  set 
it  wide  open,  and  stood  upon  its  threshold 
until  Allan  came  near. 

"  I  dinna  mean  to  shut  you  oot,  sir,"  she  said 
sadly,  "  you  are  aye  welcome." 

"Thank  you,  Maggie." 

His  voice  was  grave,  almost  sorrowful,  and 
he  went  at  once  to  his  own  room.  That  was 
precisely  what  Maggie  felt  he  ought  under  the 


66  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

circumstances  to  do ;  and  yet  she  had  a  per 
verse  anger  at  him  for  doing  it. 

"He  might  hae  said,  'it's  a  fine  night;'  or 
'has  Davie  come  hame?'  or  the  like  o'  that," 
she  whispered  ;  "I'll  hae  lost  his  liking  forever 
mair,  and  a'  for  Angus  Raith's  ill  tongue.  I 
wish  I  had  keep't  my  temper,  but  that  is  past 
wishing  for."  Then  a  sudden  thought  struck 
her,  and  she  knocked  gently  at  Allan's  door. 

"  Is  that  you,  Maggie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  want  to  speak  a  word  wi'  you. 
Will  you  come  ben  a  minute  ?  " 

He  responded  at  once  to  her  desire — "  What 
is  it,  Maggie?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  it  please  you,  sir,  I  dinna  want  Davie  to 
ken  anything  anent  to-night's  ill-words  and 
ill-wark." 

"  I  think  that  is  a  very  wise  decision." 

"  No  gude  can  c:>me  o'  telling  what's  ill,  and 
if  you  wad  believe  me,  sir,  I'm  vera,  vera  sorry, 
for  my  share  in  it." 

Her  eyelids  were  dropped,  they  trembled 
visibly,  and  there  was  a  pathetic  trouble  and 
humiliation  in  her  beautiful  face.  Allan  was 
sick  with  restrained  emotion.  He  longed  to 
fold  the  trembling,  wounded  woman  to  his 


MAGGIE  AND  ANGUS.  67 

heart.  He  fully  believed  that  he  had  the 
power  to  kiss  back  the  splendor  of  beauty  and 
joy  into  her  pale  face  ;  and  it  would  have  been 
the  greatest  felicity  earth  could  grant  him,  to 
do  so.  Yet,  for  honor's  sake,  he  repressed  the 
love  and  the  longing  in  his  heart,  and  stood 
almost  cold  and  unresponsive  before  her. 

"  I  am  vera,  vera  sorry,"  she  repeated.  "  The 
man  said  words  I  couldna  thole,  and  sae — I 
struck  him." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,  Maggie.  It  would  be 
a  delight  to  me  to  strike  him  as  he  deserves  to 
be  struck.  For  your  sake,  I  kept  my  hands  off 
the  wretch.  To-morrow,  before  all  his  mates, 
if  you  say  so,  I  will  punish  him." 

"  Na,  na,  na ;  that  is  the  thing  I'm  feared  for 
I  dinna  want  my  name  in  everybody's  lips  ;  and 
you  ken,  sir,  hoo  women-folks  talk  anent  women. 
They'd  say,  '  Weel,  weel,  there's  aye  fire  where 
there's  smoke,'  and  the  like  o'  that,  and  they 
wad  shake  their  heads,  and  look  oot  o'  the 
corner  o'  their  e'en,  and  I  couldna  thole  it,  sir." 

"  There  is  David  to  remember  also.  Dr. 
Balmuto  thinks  with  me.  He  is  to  go  to  Glas 
gow  College  in  the  autumn,  and  a  quarrel  might 
now  be  a  bad  thing  for  his  whole  life.  He 


68  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

wants  every  hour  for  study,  he  has  no  time 
for  Angus  Raith  I  think." 

"  Thank  you,  sir — and  if  you  wad  try  and  for 
get  the  shame  put  upon  me,  and  no  quite  tak' 
away  the  gude  will  you  had  for  me,  I'd  bevera 
grateful  and  happy."  And  she  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  left  hand,  and  shyly  put  out  the 
right  one  to  Allan. 

"  Oh,  Maggie  !  Maggie  !  "  he  said  almost  in 
a  whisper,  "  you  little  know  how  you  try  me ! 
Dear  girl,  forget  all,  and  be  happy !  "  And  as 
her  hand  lay  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  fell  upon  it. 
It  was  a  brown  hand,  large,  but  finely  formed, 
the  hand  of  a  sensitive,  honorable,  capable 
woman.  It  was  the  hand  with  which  she  had 
struck  Angus  Raith  ;  yet  Allan  bowed  his  head 
to  it,  and  left  both  a  kiss  and  a  tear  on  its 
palm. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  PARTING. 

"  Each  on  his  own  strict  line  we  move 
And  some  find  death  ere  they  find  love, 
So  far  apart  their  lives  are  thrown 
From  the  twin  soul  that  halves  their  own." 

"  Oh,  nearest,  farthest !    Can  there  be 

At  length  some  hard-earned  heart- won  home, 
Where — exile  changed  for  Sanctuary — 
Our  lot  may  fill  indeed  its  sum, 
And  you  may  wait  and  I  may  come  ?  " 

A  BOUT  twelve  o'clock  the  wind  rose,  there 
±\  was  a  rattling  breeze  and  a  tossing  sea  all 
night;  and  David  did  not  return  until  the  early 
morning  tide.  Allan  was  roused  from  sleep  by 
young  Johnson  singing, 

"  We  cast  our  line  in  Largo  Bay," 

and  soon  after  he  heard  David  greet  Maggie  in 
an  unusually  cheerful  manner.  He  was  impa 
tient  to  tell  him  the  good  news,  and  he  dressed 


70  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

hurriedly,  and  went  into  the  house  place.  Mag 
gie  was  scattering  the  meal  into  the  boiling 
water  for  breakfast ;  and  David,  weary  with  his 
night  work,  sat  drowsing  in  his  father's  big 
chair.  Maggie  had  already  been  out  in  the 
fresh,  wet  breeze,  and  she  had  a  pink  kerchief 
tied  over  her  hair ;  but  she  blushed  a  deeper 
pink,  as  she  shyly  said,  "  Gude  morning,  sir." 
Then  David  roused  himself — "  Hech,  sir !  "  he 
cried,  "  I  wish  you  had  been  wi'  us  last  night. 
It  was  just  a  joy  to  feel  the  clouds  laying  their 
cheeks  to  the  floods,  and  the  sea  laying  its 
shouther  to  the  shore;  I  sat  a'  night  wi' the 
helm-heft  in  my  hand,  singing  o'er  and  o'er 
again  King  David's  grand  sea  sang — 

4 '  The  floods,  O  Lord,  hae  lifted  up 

They  lifted  up  their  voice  ; 
The  floods  have  lifted  up  their  waves 

And  made  a  mighty  noise. 
But  yet  the  Lord,  that  is  on  high, 

Is  more  of  might  by  far 
Than  noise  of  many  waters  is, 

Or  great  sea-billows  are.* 

And  I  couldna  help  thinking,"  he  continued, 
"  that  the  Angels  o'  Power,  doing  His  will,  wad 

*  Psalm  93.     Version  allowed  by  General  Assembly  of  the 
Kirk  of  Scotland. 


A   PARTING.  71 

be  likely  aye  to  tak'  the  sea  road.  It's  freer  o' 
men-folk,  and  its  mair  fu'  o'  the  glory  o'  God." 

"  I  am  glad  you  had  such  a  grand  night, 
David.  It  is  well  to  take  a  fine  farewell  of  any 
thing,  and  it  was  your  last  fishing.  Dr.  Bal- 
muto  sends  you  this  word  about  Glasgow  Uni 
versity — 'go,  and  the  Lord  go  with  thee."  He 
has  given  me  a  letter  to  a  professor  there,  who 
will  choose  the  books  you  want,  and  set  you 
the  lessons  you  are  to  learn  between  now  and 
the  opening  of  the  classes  in  September.  The 
books  are  to  be  the  doctor's  gift  to  you.  He 
would  hear  tell  of  nothing  else." 

David  was  as  one  that  dreams  for  a  moment ; 
but  his  excitement  soon  conquered  his  happy 
amazement.  He  had  to  put  his  breakfast  aside. 

"I  dinna  want  to  eat,"  he  said,  "  my  soul  is 
satisfied.  I  feel  as  if  I  ne'er  could  be  hungry 
any  mair."  He  was  particularly  delighted  at 
the  minister's  kindness,  and  said  fervently,  "  I 
thank  him  for  the  books,  far  mair  for  the  bless 
ing."  He  took  all  the  favors  to  be  done  him 
without  dispute  or  apology,  just  as  a  candid, 
unselfish  child,  takes  what  love  gives  it.  He 
was  so  anxious  to  get  to  work,  that  he  would 
liked  to  have  left  at  once  for  Glasgow ;  but 


72  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Allan  was  not  ready  to  leave.  Indeed  he  was 
"swithering"  whether,  or  not,  he  should  take 
this  opportunity  of  bidding  farewell  to  Pitten- 
loch. 

After  breakfast  they  went  to  the  boat 
together.  The  decks  were  covered  with  a  mass 
of  glinting,  shimmering  fish,  that  looked  like 
molten  silver  in  the  sunshine.  "  David,"  said 
Allan,  "  make  the  boys  clean  her  thoroughly, 
and  in  smooth  water  you  can  now  use  her  as  a 
study.  Maggie  dislikes  men  about  the  house 
all  day  ;  you  can  bring  your  books  and  papers 
to  the  boat  and  drift  about  in  smooth  water. 
On  the  sea  there  will  be  no  crying  children  and 
scolding  mothers  to  disturb  you." 

The  idea  delighted  David  ;  he  began  at  once 
to  carry  it  out ;  but  Allan  took  no  further 
interest  in  the  matter,  and  went  strolling  up 
the  beach  until  he  came  to  the  spot  where  the 
quarrel  of  the  preceding  evening  had  taken 
place.  Here  he  stood  leaning  against  the  rock 
unconscious  of  outside  influences  for  nearly  two 
hours.  He  asked  himself  "did  he  love  Maggie 
Promoter?"  "Did  she  love  him?"  "Was 
there  any  hope  in  the  future  for  their  mar 
riage?" 


A   PARTING.  73 

Then  he  acknowledged  to  his  soul  that  the 
woman  was  inexpressibly  dear  to  him.  As  for 
Maggie's  love  of  himself,  he  hoped,  and  yet  he 
feared  it ;  feared  it,  because  he  loved  her  so 
well  that  he  did  not  like  to  think  of  the  suffer 
ing  she  must  bear  with  him.  He  felt  that  no 
prospect  of  their  marriage  could  be  entertained. 
He  loved  his  father,  and  not  only  respected, 
but  also  in  some  measure  shared  his  family 
pride.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  a  sin  to  desert 
him,  and  for  his  own  private  pleasure  crumble 
the  unselfish  life-work  of  so  many  years  to 
pieces.  Then  also,  beautiful  as  Maggie  was  in 
her  cot  at  Pittenloch,  she  would  be  sadly  out 
of  place  in  the  splendid  rooms  at  Meriton. 
Sweet,  intoxicatingly  sweet,  the  cup  which  he 
had  been  drinking,  but  he  felt  that  he  must  put 
it  away  from  his  own,  and  also  from  Maggie's 
lips.  It  would  be  fatal  to  the  welfare  of  both. 

Thinking  such  thoughts,  he  finally  went  back 
to  the  cottage.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock ; 
Maggie's  house  work  was  all  "  redd  up  ;  "  and 
she  was  standing  at  her  wheel  spinning,  when 
Allan's  shadow  fell  across  the  sanded  floor,  and 
she  turned  to  see  him  standing  watching  her. 

"  You  are  hame  soon,  sir.    Is  a'  well  wi'  you  ?  " 


74  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  No,  Maggie,  all  is  not  well.  If  all  had  been 
well,  I  had  never  been  in  Pittenloch."  She 
stopped  her  wheel  and  stood  looking  at  him. 
Then  he  plunged  at  once  into  the  story,  which 
he  had  determined  to  tell  her.  "  I  had  a  quar 
rel  with  my  father  and  I  left  home.  He  does 
not  know  where  I  am." 

"You  hae  done  very  wrang  I'm  fearing,  sir. 
He'll  hae  been  a  gude  fayther  to  you?  " 

"Yes,  very  good.  He  has  given  me  love, 
education,  travel,  leisure,  wealth,  my  own  way, 
in  all  things  but  one." 

"Then,  you  be  to  call  yoursel'  a  bad  son.  I 
didna  think  it  o'  you,  sir." 

"  But,  Maggie,  that  one  thing  includes  all  my 
future  life.  If  I  obey  him,  I  must  always  be 
miserable." 

"  It  will  be  aboot  some  leddy  ? "  asked 
Maggie,  and  she  spoke  in  a  low  restrained 
voice. 

"  Yes,  about  my  cousin.  She  is  very  rich, 
and  if  I  marry  her,  Maggie,  I  shall  unite  the 
two  branches  of  our  family,  and  take  it  back  to 
its  ancient  home." 

"  Your  fayther  has  the  right  to  ask  that  much 
o*  you.  He's  been  lang  gude  to  you." 


A    PARTING.  75 

"I  did  not  ask  him  to  be  good.  I  did  not 
ask  for  my  life,  but  life  having  been  given  me, 
I  think  I  have  the  right  to  do  as  I  desire  with  it." 

"There  is  nane  o'  us,  sir,  haethe  right  to  live 
for,  or  to,  oursel's.  A  tree  doesna  ask  to  be 
planted,  but  when  it  is  planted,  it  bears  fruit, 
and  gies  shadow,  cheerfully.  It  tholes  storms, 
and  is  glad  in  the  sunshine,  and  if  it  didna 
bear  fruit,  when  it  was  weel  cared  for,  it  wad 
deserve  to  be  cut  doon  and  burnt.  My  bonnie 
rose  bush  didna  ask  me  to  plant  it,  yet  it  is 
bending  wi'  flowers  for  my  pleasure.  Your 
fayther  will  hae  the  right  to  say  what  you  shall 
do  to  pay  back  his  love  and  care." 

"  But  when  I  do  not  love  the  lady  I  am 
desired  to  marry?" 

"  Tuts  !  "  She  flung  her  head  back  a  little 
scornfully  with  the  word.  "  There's  few  folks 
ken  what  love  is." 

"  Do  you,  Maggie?" 

"  What  for  wad  I  ken  ?  Is  the  leddy  bon 
nie?  " 

"  Very  sweet  and  gentle  and  kind." 

"  Does  she  like  you  ?  " 

"  We  have  been  long  together.  She  likes  me, 
as  you  like  David." 


76  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"Will  she  want  to  be  your  wife?  That's 
what  I  mean,  sir." 

"  I  think  not.  A  man  cannot  know  such  a 
thing  as  that,  until  he  asks." 

She  looked  sharply  at  him,  and  blushed 
crimson.  "  Then  you  hae  never  asked  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  asked  her.  My  father  wants 
me  to  do  so,  and  I  refused." 

"  You  are  feared  she'll  tak'  you  ?  " 

"Just  so,  Maggie.  Now  what  would  you 
advise  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  wouldna  do  the  thing  I  told  you. 
Whatna  for  then,  should  I  say  a  word  ?  "  . 

"  I  think  I  should  do  what  you  told  me.  I 
have  a  great  respect  for  your  good  sense, 
Maggie.  I  have  never  told  my  trouble  to  any 
one  but  you." 

"To  naebody  ?  " 

"  Not  to  any  one." 

"  Wait  a  wee  then,  while  I  think  it  o'er.  I 
must  be  sure  to  gie  you  true  counsel,  when  you 
come  to  me  sae  trustful." 

She  set  the  wheel  going  and  turned  her  face 
to  it  for  about  five  minutes.  Then  she  stilled 
it,  and  Allan  saw  that  the  hand  she  laid  upon 
it  trembled  violently. 


A   PARTING.  77 

"  You  should  gae  hame,  sir  ;  and  you  should 
be  as  plain  and  trustful  wi'  your  cousin,  as  you 
hae  been  wi'  me.  Tell  the  leddy  just  hoo  you 
love  her,  and  ask  her  to  tak'  you,  even  though 
you  arena  deserving  o'  her.  Your  fayther  canna 
blame  you  if  she  willna  be  your  wife.  And  sae, 
whether  she  says  '  na,'  or  'yes/  there  will  be 
peace  between  you  twa." 

"  That  is  cutting  a  knot  with  a  vengeance, 
Maggie." 

"Life  isna  lang  enough  to  untie  some 
knots." 

Then  with  her  head  still  resolutely  turned 
from  Allan,  she  put  by  the  wheel,  and  went  into 
her  room,  and  locked  its  door.  Her  face  was 
as  gray  as  ashes.  She  sat  with  clenched  hands, 
and  tight-drawn  lips,  and  swayed  her  body 
backwards  and  forwards  like  one  in  an  extrem 
ity  of  physical  anguish. 

11  Oh  Allan  !  Allan !  You  hae  killed  me  !  " 
she  whispered ;  "  you  hae  broken  my  heart 
in  twa." 

As  she  did  not  return  to  him,  Allan  went  to 
his  room  also,  and  fell  asleep  ;  a  sleep  of  exhaus 
tion,  not  indifference.  Maggie's  plan  had 
struck  him  at  first  as  one  entirely  impracticable 


78  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

with  a  refined,  conventional  girl  like  Mary 
Campbell  ;  but  when  a  long  dreamless  rest  had 
cleared  and  refreshed  his  mind,  he  began  to 
think  that  the  plan,  primitive  as  it  was,  might 
be  a  good  one.  In  love,  as  well  as  geometry, 
the  straight  line  might  be  the  easiest  and 
best. 

But  he  had  no  further  opportunity  to  discuss 
it  with  her.  David's  trip  to  Glasgow  was  a 
very  important  affair  to  'him,  and  he  stayed  at 
home  in  the  afternoon  to  prepare  for  it.  Then 
Maggie  had  her  first  hard  lesson  in  self-res 
traint.  All  her  other  sorrows  had  touched 
lives  beside  her  own  ;  tears  and  lamentations 
had  not  only  been  natural,  they  had  been 
expected  of  her.  But  now  she  was  brought 
face  to  face  with  a  grief  she  must  hide  from  every 
eye.  If  a  child  is  punished,  and  yet  forbidden 
to  weep,  what  a  tumult  of  reproach  and  anguish 
and  resentment  is  in  the  small  pathetic  face ! 
Maggie's  face  was  the  reflex  of  a  soul  in  just 
such  a  position.  She  blamed  Allan,  and  she 
excused  him  in  the  same  moment.  The  cry  in 
her  heart  was  "  why  didna  he  tell  me  ?  Why 
didna  he  tell  me  before  it  was  o'er  late  ?  He 
kent  weel  a  woman  be  to  love  him  !  He  should 


A   PARTING.  79 

hae  spoken  afore  this  !  But  it's  my  ain  fault  ! 
My  ain  fault !  I  ought  to  think  shame  o'  mysel' 
for  giving  what  was  ne'er  sought." 

David  noticed  the  pale  anguish  of  her  cheeks 
and  mouth,  and  the  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes, 
but  he  thought  her  trouble  was  entirely  on  his 
own  account.  "  Dinna  fret  aboot  me,  Maggie," 
he  said  kindly,  "  I  am  going  where  I  hae  been 
sent,  and  there's  nae  ill  thing  will  come  to  me. 
And  we  sail  hae  the  summer  thegither,  and 
plenty  o'  time  to  sort  the  future  comfortable 
for  you.  Why,  lassie,  you  sail  come  wi'  me  to 
Glasca',  rayther  than  I'll  hae  you  looking  sae 
broken-hearted." 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  evening.  Allan  was 
packing  his  best  pictures  and  some  clothing. 
David  was  also  busy.  The  house  was  upside 
down,  and  there  was  no  peace  anywhere. 
Maggie's  one  hope  was,  that  she  would  be  able 
to  bear  up  until  they  were  gone.  Fortunately 
the  tide  served  very  early,  and  almost  at  day 
light  she  called  the  travelers  for  their  breakfast. 
They  were  both  silent,  and  perhaps  no  one  was 
sorry  when  those  few  terrible  minutes  of 
approaching  farewells  were  over.  At  the  last, 
with  all  her  efforts,  Maggie  could  not  keep  back 


8o  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

her  tears,  and  David's  black,  shiny  eyes  were 
dim  and  misty  also. 

"  Few  men  hae  sae  kind-hearted  a  sister  as  I 
hae,"  he  said  gratefully.  Scotch  families  are 
not  demonstrative  in  their  affections  ;  very 
seldom  in  all  her  life  had  Maggie  kissed  her 
brother,  but  when  he  stood  with  his  bonnet  in 
his  hand,  and  the  "good-bye  "  on  his  lips,  she 
lifted  her  face  and  kissed  him  tenderly.  Allan 
tried  to  make  the  parting  a  matter  of  little 
consequence.  "  We  shall  be  back  in  a  few 
days,  Maggie  ;  "  he  said  cheerily.  "  David  is 
only  going  for  a  pleasuring  " — and  he  held  out 
his  hand  and  looked  her  brightly  in  the  face. 
So  they  went  into  the  boat,  and  she  watched 
them  out  of  harbor  ;  and  Allan  long  remem 
bered  how  grandly  beautiful  she  was,  standing 
at  the  very  edge  of  the  land,  with  the  sun 
shine  falling  all  over  her,  the  wind  blowing 
backward  her  hair  and  her  plaid,  and  her  white 
bare  arm  raised  above  her  head  in  a  last  adieu. 
He  saw  her  turn  slowly  away,  and  he  knew  how 
her  heart  ached  by  the  sharpness  of  the  pain  in 
his  own. 

She  went  back  to  the  desolate  untidy  house 
and  fastened  the  door,  and  drew  the  curtains, 


A   PARTING.  8 1 

and  sat  down  full  of  misery,  that  took  all  light 
and  hope  out  of  her  life.  She  did  not  lose  her 
self  in  analysis;  the  tide  of  sorrow  went  on 
rising,  rising,  until  it  submerged  her.  Accus 
tomed  to  draw  all  her  reflections  from  the 
Bible,  she  moaned  out  "  Lover  and  friend  thou 
hast  put  far  from  me."  Ah !  there  is  no 
funeral  so  sad  to  follow  as  the  funeral  of  our 
first  love,  and  all  its  wonderful  hopes. 

In  a  little  while  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  she  had  to  dry  her  eyes  and  operr  to 
the  neighbors,  who  had  many  curiosities  to 
satisfy.  David  and  "  Maister  Campbell  "  were 
gone,  and  they  did  not  fear  Maggie.  She  had 
to  enter  common  life  again,  to  listen  to  won- 
derings,  and  congratulations,  and  wearisome 
jokes.  To  smile,  to  answer  questions,  and  yet, 
to  hear  amid  all  the  tumult  of  words  and 
laughter,  always  one  voice,  the  sound  of  which 
penetrated  all  other  sounds  ;  to  be  conscious  of 
only  one  thought,  which  she  had  to  guard 
jealously,  with  constant  care,  lest  she  should  let 
it  slip  amid  the  clash  of  thoughts  around  her. 

Oh,  how  she  hated  the  sunshine  and  the  noisy 
babble  of  it !  How  feverishly  she  longed  for 
the  night,  for  the  shadows  in  which  she  could 


82  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

weep,  for  the  darkness  in  which  she  could  be 
herself,  for  the  isolation  in  which  she  could 
escape  from  slavery !  It  was  an  entirely  new, 
strange  feeling  to  her.  In  that  simple  com 
munity,  joys  and  sorrows  were  not  for  secrecy. 
A  wedding  or  a  funeral  was  the  affair  of  every 
one.  Women  were  expected  to  weep  publicly, 
and  if  they  wore  sackcloth  and  ashes,  to  wear 
it  in  the  sight  of  every  one.  Love  affairs  were 
discussed  without  ceremony,  and  often  arranged 
in  full  family  conclaves.  All  married  strictly 
within  their  own  rank;  not  once  in  a  generation 
did  a  fisher-girl  marry  "  out  of  the  boats." 

Maggie  would  have  been  really  afraid  to 
speak  of  her  love  for  a  gentleman  like  Allan 
Campbell.  She  knew  well  what  a  storm  of 
advices,  perhaps  even  of  scorn  and  reproaches, 
her  confidence  would  be  met  with.  Yet  she 
would  talk  freely  enough  about  Angus  Raith, 
and  when  Christie  Buchan  told  her  Raith's  ver 
sion  of  their  quarrel,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  fly 
into  a  passion  of  indignation,  and  stigmatize 
him  freely  as  "  a  liar  and  a  cowardly  ne'er-do- 
weel." 

"You'll  mak'  it  up,"  said  Christie,  "and 
marry  him  when  the  year  is  oot.  Deed  you'll 


A   PARTING.  83 

be  kind  o'  forced  to,  for  he'll  let  nae  other  lad 
come  speiring  after  you." 

"  I'll  ne'er  mak'  it  up  wi'  him  ;  no,  not  for  a' 
the  gold  in  Fife ;  and  you  may  tell  him  if 
he  ever  speaks  o'  me  again,  I'll  strike  the  lies 
aff  his  black  mouth  wi'  my  ain  hand."  She 
found  a  safe  vent  for  her  emotions  in  the  sub 
ject,  and  she  continued  it  until  her  visitors 
went.  But  it  was  an  unwise  thing.  Raith  had 
kin  and  friends  in  Pittenloch  ;  all  that  she  had 
said  in  her  excited  mental  condition  was  in  time 
repeated  to  them,  and  she  was  eventually  made 
to  feel  that  there  was  a  "  set  "  who  regarded 
her  with  active  ill  will. 

In  the  meantime,  Allan  and  David  had  a 
pleasant  sail  to  Leith  ;  and  during  it  Allan  made 
David's  position  perfectly  clear  to  him.  "  Dr. 
Balmuto  has  taken  for  himself  the  pleasure  of 
buying  your  first  books,  David,"  he  said  ;  "  you 
must  let  me  select  your  first  scholastic  ward 
robe  ;  or  rather  we  will  go  together  to  my 
tailor,  for  he  will  know  exactly  what  is  neces 
sary  for  you.  The  square  cap  of  your  college, 
and  its  scarlet  gown,  we  shall  procure  best  in 
Glasgow." 

"  I'll  do  whate'er  you  say,  sir." 


84  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"You  see,  David,  the  respectability  of  the 
theological  class  must  be  kept  up,  and  it  will  be 
better  that  Professor  Laird  sees  you  first  dressed 
as  a  student,  rather  than  as  a  fisher.  Then,  as 
one  never  knows  what  may  happen,  I  shall 
deposit  to  your  credit  in  the  Western  Bank  of 
Glasgow,  the  sum  of  ,£400.  It  will  be  for  your 
fees,  and  board,  and  books,  and  dress.  You  will 
have  to  be  very  careful,  David.  I  wanted  to 
make  it  ^500,  but  Dr.  Balmuto  said  you  would 
like  better  the  idea  of  economy.  Not  one 
word,  David.  I  know  all  you  feel.  I  am 
happier  than  you  are  ;  and  if  the  obligation 
ever  becomes  a  painful  one  to  you,  why  pay  me 
back  when  you  get  a  kirk  and  a  good  sti 
pend." 

"  I  hear  you,  sir,  and  I'm  gratefu'  as  man  can 
be." 

"  Very  likely  Professor  Laird  may  wish  you 
to  stay  a  week  with  him.  He  will  want  to  find 
out  what  you  know,  and  what  studies  you  can 
be  pursuing  this  summer.  If  he  does  so,  I  shall 
take  that  opportunity  to  visit  my  friends. 
Then  we  can  return  to  Pittenloch  until  the 
classes  open.  I  look  forward  to  some  calm, 
happy  weeks,  David ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  be 


A    PARTING.  85 

able  to  help  you  with  your  Latin  and  Greek.  I 
wasn't  a  bad  scholar  two  years  ago." 

"  Is  your  hame  far  awa',  sir  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say,  David,  you  think  it  strange  I  do 
not  ask  you  to  go  with  me  there." 

"  It  wad  ill  set  me  to  hae  such  thochts,  sir.  I 
hope  you  dinna  put  them  to  me." 

"The  truth  is,  David,  I  have  had  a  little 
trouble  with  my  family.  If  you  won't  mind  my 
secrecy,  I  should  prefer  not  to  speak  of  it." 

"  I  hae  naething  to  do  wi*  your  private  affairs, 
sir.  I  wad  think  it  the  height  o*  dishonor  to 
mak'  any  inquiry  concerning  them." 

Then  the  subject  was  readily  turned,  for 
David's  mind  and  imagination  was  full  of 
the  lovely  and  grand  city  in  which  he  found 
himself.  He  had  never  been  beyond  the  small 
fishing  towns  of  Fife,  and  the  ancient  castle 
and  palace,  the  fine  terraces  of  handsome 
houses,  the  marching  to  and  fro  of  soldiers,  the 
streets  and  kirks  made  sacred  by  the  sufferings 
of  the  Covenanters  and  the  voice  of  Knox, 
filled  his  soul  with  unspeakable  emotions. 
Glasgow,  at  first,  almost  terrified  him.  "  It's 
the  City  o'  Human  Power,"  he  wrote  to  Maggie. 
"  It  is  fu'  o'  hurrying  crowds,  and  harsh  alarms, 


86  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

and  contentious  noises.  And  the  horses  and 
the  carriages !  They  are  maist  fearsome  !  Also 
the  drivers  o*  them  are  a  fierce  and  insolent 
race  o'  men ;  and  I  tak'  credit  to  mysel',  that  I 
hae  not  been  quite  dumfounded  wi'  the  noise 
o'  it." 

Allan  had  a  private  interview  with  Professor 
Laird  before  he  introduced  David  to  him  ;  and 
doubtless  satisfactory  arrangements  were  made, 
for  David  received  a  cordial  welcome  to  his 
house.  He  had  taken  naturally  to  his  black 
clothes;  never  for  a  moment  had  he  felt  or 
appeared  out  of  place  in  them  ;  and  the  pro 
fessor,  after  a  keen  look  at  his  new  student,  said 
in  an  aside  to  Allan — 

"  A  born  ecclesiastic,  a  natural  theologian  ; 
where  did  you  find  him,  Mr.  Campbell  ?  " 

"  Where  Christ  found  some  apostles,  in  the 
fishing  boats.  He  will  do,  I  think." 

"  Do  !  He  is  one  of  those  men  who  will 
walk  up  to  fame  as  they  would  to  a  friend  in 
their  own  home." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE. 

"There  is  a  change  in  every  hour's  recall, 
And  the  last  cowslip  in  the  fields  we  see 
On  the  same  day  with  the  first  corn  poppy. 
Alas  for  hourly  change !     Alas  for  all 
The  loves  that  from  his  hand  proud  Youth  lets  fall, 
Even  as  the  beads  of  a  told  rosary  !  " 

HE  next  day  Allan  bade  David  "  good-bye," 
J^  for  a  week.  He  went  first  to  his  father's 
office ;  where  he  received  a  glad  welcome. 
Their  dispute  did  not  interfere  with  the  court 
esies  of  life ;  nor  indeed,  had  it  in  any  degree 
dulled  the  sincere  affection  between  father  and 
son.  As  they  stood  a  moment  hand-fast,  they 
looked  into  each  other's  face,  and  in  the 
mutual  look  there  was  a  dumb  acknowledg 
ment  of  a  love  which  could  not  be  easily 
shadowed,  and  which  no  circumstances  could 
altogether  extinguish. 

"  Where  have  you  been  so  long,  Allan  ?     I 
have  wearied  to  see  you." 


88  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  I  was  on  the  East  coast,  father." 

"  Trying  to  find  out  what  you  really 
wanted  ?  " 

"  That,  and  also  making  some  fine  studies.  I 
have  brought  back  with  me  a  few  pictures 
which  I  hope  you  will  like.  Shall  I  take  the 
noon  boat  to  Meriton,  or  wait  for  you  ?  " 

"  Go  at  noon.  I  may  stop  at  Largo  to  see  a 
yacht  I  think  of  buying." 

"  How  is  Mary?" 

"Well  and  bonnie.  She  will  be  glad  to  see 
you.  She  has  been  glad  always  to  see  a  letter 
with  the  Edinburgh  postmark.  James  Sinclair 
is  waiting  for  advices,  so  '  good-bye  '  until  we 
meet  at  Meriton.  Just  tell  MacRoy  to  let  us 
have  a  bottle  of  the  '  comet '  *  Madeira  to 
night.  The  occasion  will  excuse  it." 

Allen  felt  grateful,  for  he  knew  what  the 
order  really  meant — it  was  the  wine  of  home 
coming,  and  rejoicing,  and  gratitude.  And 
after  all,  he  had  been  something  of  a  prodigal, 
and  his  father's  greeting,  so  full  of  regard,  so 
destitute  of  reproach,  had  touched  him  very 
much.  How  beautiful  was  Clyde  side  !  How 

*  Comet -wine,  that  of  1811,  the  year  of  the  comet,  and  the 
best  vintage  on  record  ;  famed  for  its  delicate  aroma. 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  89 

homelike  the  heathery  hills,  the  dimpling  bays, 
the  luxuriant  stretches  of  wood,  the  stately 
dwellings  crowning  the  smooth  green,  sloping 
lawns  !  The  bold  rocks  of  Fife,  the  bellowing 
waves,  the  plaintive  cries  of  the  fishermen,  the 
salt  and  sparkle  of  the  great  sea,  the  rocking, 
bounding  boat  upon  it,  all  these  things  slipped 
from  his  memory  in  the  charm  of  the  present 
picture. 

He  was  impatient  to  reach  his  home,  and 
glad  to  see  the  coachman  and  a  phaeton  wait 
ing,  when  the  steamer  touched  the  little  jetty. 
The  man  raised  his  hat  with  a  pleasure  there 
was  no  mistaking.  "  I  came  my  ways  doon  on 
a  '  may  be,'  sir,"  he  said  proudly,  "  I  jist  had  a 
feeling  o'  being  wanted  here.  Whiles,  thae 
feelings  are  as  gude  as  a  positive  order.  You'll 
be  come  to  stay,  Mr.  Allan,  surely,  sir.  There'll 
be  a  sight  o'  birds  in  the  heather  this  year." 

"  My  stay  depends  on  this  and  that,  Archi 
bald.  Is  there  any  change  round  Meriton  ?" 

"  Nane  worth  the  praising,  sir.  We  hae  a 
new  minister.  I  dinna  think  much  o'  him." 

"  Not  orthodox,  I  suppose." 

"A  puir  body,  sir,  a  puir  body  at  a  sermon. 
I  like  a  gun  and  a  minister  to  shoot  close.  Dr. 


90  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

MacDonald  is  an  awfu'  scattering  man.  He'll 
be  frae  Genesis  to  Revelations  in  the  same  dis 
course,  sir." 

They  were  passing  between  plantations  of 
young  larch  ;  the  great  hills  rose  behind  them, 
the  songs  of  a  multitude  of  birds  filled  the 
warm,  sweet  air.  The  horses  tossed  their 
heads,  and  lifted  proudly  their  prancing  feet. 
Allan  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  easy,  swift  mo 
tion  through  the  balmy  atmosphere.  As  he 
leaned  back  against  the  comfortably  cushioned 
vehicle,  he  could  not  help  contrasting  the  cir 
cumstances  with  the  hoary  sea-shattering  rocks 
of  Fife,  the  tossing  ocean,  the  tugging  oars,  and 
the  fisherman's  open  boat.  He  did  not  try  to 
decide  upon  the  merits  of  the  different  situa 
tions  ;  he  simply  realized  the  present,  and  en 
joyed  it. 

The  great  doors  of  Meriton  House  stood 
open,  and  a  soft-treading  footman  met  him  with 
bows  and  smiles,  and  lifted  his  cloak  and  lug 
gage,  and  made  him  understand  that  he  had 
again  entered  a  life  in  which  he  was  expected  to 
be  unable  to  wait  upon  himself.  It  gave  him  no 
trouble  to  accept  the  conditions  ;  he  fell  at 
once  into  the  lofty  leisurely  way  of  a  man  ac- 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  91 

customed  to  being  served.  He  had  dismissed 
his  valet  in  Edinburgh,  when  he  determined  to 
go  to  Pittenloch,  but  he  watched  his  father's 
servant  brushing  his  dinner  suit,  and  preparing 
his  bath  and  toilet,  without  one  dissenting  feel 
ing  as  to  the  absolute  fitness  of  the  attention. 
The  lofty  rooms,  the  splendor  and  repose,  the 
unobtrusive  but  perfect  service,  were  the  very 
antipodes  of  the  life  he  had  just  left.  He 
smiled  to  himself  as  he  lazily  made  contrasts  of 
them.  But  Fife  and  the  ways  of  Fife  seemed 
far  away.  It  was  like  a  dream  from  which  he 
had  awakened,  and  Meriton  was  the  actual  and 
the  present. 

He  knew  that  he  would  meet  Mary  Campbell 
very  soon,  and  he  was  not  indifferent  to  the 
meeting.  He  could  not  help  glancing  with 
complaisance  at  the  new  evening  suit  he  had 
brought  with  him  ;  and  looking  a  little  ruefully 
at  his  browned  and  hardened  hands,  and  the 
tan  of  wind  and  weather  on  his  face.  He 
hoped  he  would  meet  Mary  before  his  father's 
arrival ;  so  that  he  could  get  accustomed  to  the 
situation  before  he  had  to  exhibit  himself  in  it 
to  those  keen  and  critical  observers,  the  serv 
ants. 


92  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

He  went  early  into  the  dining-room,  and 
found  Mary  already  there.  She  had  some  ferns 
and  roses  in  her  hands,  and  was  mingling  them, 
for  the  adornment  of  the  dinner  table.  She 
put  them  down,  and  went  to  meet  him  with  a 
smile  like  sunshine.  Her  small,  slender  figure 
clothed  in  white  India  mull  had  a  peculiarly 
fragile  appearance ;  but  Allan  watched  her,  as 
she  glided  about  the  room  filling  the  crystal 
vases,  with  a  restful  content.  He  thought 
how  intelligent  her  face  is!  How  graceful  her 
diction,  how  charming  her  low,  sweet  voice ! 

The  dinner  was  a  kind  of  festival.  Mac  Roy 
made  every  one  feel  so,  when  he  served  with 
careful  and  elaborate  ceremonies  the  famous 
wine.  Allan  felt  almost  pained  by  the  signifi 
cance  given  to  his  return.  It  roused  the  first 
feeling  of  opposition  in  him.  "  I  will  not  float 
with  the  current  unless  I  wish  to  do  so,"  was 
his  mental  determination  ;  "  and  I  will  not  have 
it  supposed  that  my  return  home  is  a  surrender 
of  my  inclinations."  Unfortunately  John 
Campbell  regarded  it  as  such  ;  and  his  desire 
was  to  adequately  show  his  appreciation  of  the 
concession.  Before  Allan  had  been  at  home 
three  days,  he  perceived  that  his  father  was 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  93 

restless  and  impatient.  He  had  watched  and 
waited  so  long,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that 
Allan  was  unkind  to  keep  a  question  of  such 
importance  in  abeyance  and  uncertainty. 

But  the  week  Allan  had  allowed  himself 
nearly  passed  and  he  had  not  been  able  to  say 
a  word  to  Mary  on  the  subject  pressing  him  so 
closely.  He  felt  that  he  must  have  more  time, 
and  he  went  into  Glasgow  to  see  David.  He 
found  him  in  Professor  Laird's  study  hard  at 
work  ;  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  the  easy  attitude 
of  the  young  man  among  his  new  surroundings. 
When  the  servant  said,  "  Here  is  a  gentleman 
to  call  on  you,  Mr.  Promoter,"  David  rose  with 
out  the  slightest  embarrassment  to  welcome 
his  visitor  ;  though  when  the  door  was  closed, 
he  said  with  a  smile,  "  I  let  them  call  me 
'  Mister  Promoter ; '  I  must  consider  the  office 
I'm  seeking  and  gie  it  honor;  but  it  sounds 
unca  strange,  sir.  Whiles,  I  feel  as  if  I  wad  be 
glad  to  hear  somebody  say  '  David  '  to  me." 
"  Well,  David,  have  you  had  a  good  week  ?  " 
"  A  week  fu'  o'  grand  promises,  sir.  I  hae 
had  a  glint  inside  spacious  halls  o'  delightfu' 
stillness  and  wonderfu'  wisdom.  I'll  ne'er  for 
get  the  joy  o'  it." 


94  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"We  promised  Maggie  to  return  in  seven 
days.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  keep  my  promise, 
but  I  think  it  will  be  right  for  you  to  do 
so." 

"  I  wad  be  glad  if  you  were  going  wi'  me." 

"  I  shall  follow  ere  long ;  and  even  if  I 
should  never  see  you  again,  David,  I  think  your 
future  is  assured.  Would  you  like  me  to  go 
with  you  as  far  as  Edinburgh  ?  " 

"  I  wad  like  it,  but  there  is  nae  occasion  for 
it.  The  city  doesna  fright  me  noo.  If  I 
couldna  find  my  way  to  Pittenloch  wi'  a  gude 
Scot's  tongue  in  my  mouth,  and  siller  in  my 
purse,  I  wad  hae  little  hope  of  ever  finding  my 
way  into  a  pulpit.  Thank  you  kindly,  sir." 

"  Then  good-bye  for  the  present,  Davie,  and 
give  my  regards  to  your  sister." 

He  felt  like  a  traitor  to  Maggie  and  to  his 
own  heart,  but  what  was  there  else  for  him  to 
say.  When  he  reached  the  street  the  whole 
atmosphere  of  life  seemed  to  have  changed. 
A  sudden  weariness  of  the  placid  existence  at 
Meriton  attacked  him.  Was  he  to  go  on,  year 
after  year,  dressing  and  visiting,  and  taking 
little  rows  in  land-locked  bays,  and  little  rides 
and  drives  with  Mary  Campbell?  ''I  would 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  95 

rather  fling  a  net  in  the  stormiest  sea  that  ever 
roared,  for  my  daily  bread,"  he  said.  Yet  he 
went  on  dressing,  and  rowing,  and  riding,  and 
visiting  for  many  more  weeks ;  sometimes 
resenting  the  idle,  purposeless  life  as  thoroughly 
enervating ;  more  frequently,  drifting  in  its 
sunshiny  current,  and  hardly  caring  to  oppose 
it,  though  he  suspected  it  was  leading  him  to 
Drumloch. 

What  curious  "  asides  "and  soliloquies  of  the 
soul  are  dreams  !  Perhaps  if  we  cared  to  study 
them  more  conscientiously  they  would  reveal 
us  to  ourselves  in  many  startling  ways.  The 
deep,  real  feelings  which  we  will  not  recognize 
while  awake,  take  possession  of  us  when  we 
sleep ;  and  the  cup-bearer  who  was  slain  for 
dreaming  that  he  poisoned  the  king  was,  very 
likely,  righteously  slain.  The  dream  had  but 
revealed  the  secret  thought  of  his  soul.  "  We 
sleep,  but  our  heart  waketh,"  and  though 

"Calm  and  still  may  be  the  sleeping  face 

In  the  moonlight  pale, 
The  heart  waketh  in  her  secret  place 

Within  the  veil. 

And  agonies  are  suffered  in  the  night ; 
Or  joys  embraced  too  keen  for  waking  sight." 


96  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

One  morning,  just  at  the  gray  dawn,  Allan 
had  a  dream  of  this  kind.  He  saw  Maggie  on 
the  sea  alone,  and  he  was  sailing  away  from 
her.  She  stood  upright  in  a  little  open  boat, 
which  the  waves  tossed  to  and  fro : — a  speech 
less,  woe-stricken  woman,  who  watched  him 
with  sorrow-haunted  eyes,  but  neither  by  word, 
look,  nor  movement  called  him  to  her. 

He  awoke,  and  could  sleep  no  more.  The 
dream  had  revealed  him  to  himself.  Who  was 
there  in  all  the  world  as  dear  to  him  as  Maggie 
was?  He  felt  that  she  was  wretched,  and  he 
hated  himself  for  having  made  her  so.  That 
very  hour  he  wrote  to  David,  and  said  all  that 
he  might  say,  to  give  her  hope  and  comfort, 
and  over  and  over  he  declared  his  purpose  of 
being  in  Pittenloch,  before  David  left  it  for 
Glasgow.  How  soon  David  might  get  the  let 
ter  was  a  very  uncertain  thing,  but  still  he 
could  not  rest  until  he  had  written  it. 

He  was  dull  and  silent  at  breakfast,  and  hid 
himself  and  his  moody  temper  behind  his  fav 
orite  newspaper.  Mary  had  often  noticed  that 
men  like  to  be  quiet  in  the  early  morning;  she 
gave  them  naturally  all  the  benefit  they  claim 
from  the  pressure  of  unread  mails  and  doubt- 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  97 

ful  affairs.  If  her  cousin  was  quiet  and  som 
bre,  he  might  have  half-a-dozen  innocent  rea 
sons  for  the  humor ;  when  he  felt  more  social, 
he  would  be  sure  to  seek  her.  And  when  she 
saw  him  sauntering  toward  her  favorite  retreat 
she  was  nothing  astonished.  It  was  the  fulfill 
ment  of  as  natural  an  expectation  as  that  the 
clock  should  strike  at  the  full  hour. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Allan,"  she  said,  with 
a  charming  serenity  of  manner.  "  We  shall  not 
now  have  many  days  as  fair  as  this  one  is." 
She  wore  a  gown  of  pale  blue  lawn,  and  had  a 
great  cluster  of  scarlet  fuchsias  in  her  hand. 
Behind  the  garden  bench  on  which  she  sat, 
there  was  a  hedge  of  fuchsias  seven  feet  high 
and  very  thick.  Her  small  dark  head  rested 
against  its  green  and  scarlet  masses.  The  little 
bay  tinkled  and  murmured  among  the  pebbles 
at  her  feet.  She  had  a  book,  but  she  was  not 
reading.  She  had  some  crochet,  but  she  was 
not  working.  Allan  thought  he  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  piquant  and  interesting:  but  she 
had  no  power  to  move  him.  The  lonely, 
splendid  beauty  of  the  woman  he  had  seen  in 
his  morning  vision  filled  his  heart.  He  sought 
Mary  that  hour  only  for  Maggie's  sake. 


98  A  DA  LIGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

While  he  was  wondering  how  he  could  best 
introduce  the  conversation  he  desired,  Mary 
broke  the  silence  by  a  sudden  question. 
"Cousin  Allan,  where  were  you  this  spring?  I 
have  often  wanted  to  ask  you." 

"  Why  did  you  not  ask  me  ?  I  wish  you  had, 
I  should  like  to  have  talked  on  that  subject.  I 
was  in  the  Fife  fishing  district." 

"  Oh ! " 

"Why  do  you  feel  curious,  Mary?" 

"  I  have  always  thought  there  was  some 
thing  singular  about  that  journey.  What  took 
you  to  -Fife  ?  I  never  heard  you  speak  of  Fife 
before." 

"  It  was  an  accident.  My  hat  blew  off,  a  Fife 
fisherman  got  it  for  me.  I  liked  the  man,  and 
went  back  to  Fife  with  him." 

"Accidents  open  the  door  to  Fate.  Now 
then,  what  singular  thing  happened  to  you  in 
Fife  ?  " 

"  Nothing  unusual  happened.  Is  this  my 
catechism  or  yours,  Mary  ?  " 

"  We  can  divide  it.  It  is  your  turn  to  ques 
tion." 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  left  home  ?  " 

"  You  had  a  '  difference  '  with  Uncle  John." 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  99 

"  What  about  ?  " 

"  Money,  I  dare  say.  I  feel  sure  you 
were  very  extravagant  while  you  were 
abroad." 

"  It  was  not  about  money." 

"About  going  into  business  then?  You 
ought  to  do  something,  Allan.  It  is  a  shame 
for  you  to  be  so  lazy." 

"  It  was  not  about  business.  It  was  about 
you." 

"Me!  " 

"  My  dear  Mary,  for  what  I  am  going  to  say, 
I  beg  your  pardon  in  advance,  for  I  feel  keenly 
the  position  in  which  I  must  appear  before 
you.  You  know  that  the  welfare  of  Drumloch 
has  been  my  father's  object  by  day,  and  his 
dream  by  night.  He  cannot  bear  to  think  of 
a  stranger  or  a  strange  name  in  its  old  rooms. 
Long  ago,  when  we  were  little  children,  our 
marriage  was  planned,  and  when  the  place  was 
clear,  and  you  had  grown  to  a  beautiful  wom 
anhood,  and  I  had  completed  my  education, 
father  longed  to  see  us  in  Drumloch.  There 
were  points  we  could  not  agree  upon.  He  was 
angry,  I  was  obstinate —  Mary,  I  know  not 
how  to  tell  you  ;  how  to  ask  you — " 


100  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"Allan,  my  dear  brother  Allan,  spare  yourself 
and  me  any  more  words."  She  looked  up  with 
clear,  candid  eyes,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his. 
"Uncle  is  not  unjust  in  his  expectations.  His 
outlay,  his  cares,  his  labor,  have  saved  Drum- 
loch  to  the  family.  It  is  as  much  his  purchase 
as  if  he  had  bought  every  acre  at  public  roup. 
And  he  has  been  a  second  father  to  me  ;  kind, 
generous,  thoughtful.  It  is  hard  enough  for 
him  that  his  plans  must  fail  ;  it  would  be  cruel 
indeed  if  he  were  parted  from  a  son  he  loves 
so  tenderly  as  he  loves  you,  Allan.  Let  me 
bear  the  blame.  Let  it  be  my  fault  his  hopes 
.cannot  be  realized." 

"  Can  they  not  be  realized,  Mary?" 
"  Do  you  mean  by  that  question  to  offer  me 
your  hand,  Allan  ?  At  any  rate  I  will  consider 
it  a  fulfillment  of  your  father's  desire.  No,  they 
cannot  be  realized.  You  are  to  me  as  a 
brother.  I  distinctly  refuse  to  accept  you  as  a 
husband.  Uncle  John  is  a  gentleman  ;  he  will 
consider  my  '  no  '  as  final ;  and  he  is  too  just  to 
blame  you,  because  I  decline  to  be  your  wife. 
Nor  shall  we  be  any  worse  friends,  Allan,  for 
this  honest  talk,  I  am  sure  of  that."  She 
smiled  bravely  in  his  face,  and  he  did  not  sus- 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  101 

pect  how  deeply  both  her  affections  and  her 
pride  had  been  wounded. 

'•'  Let  us  go  back  to  the  house ;  the  air  is 
heavy  and  hot,  we  may  have  a  storm." 

Allan  was  thoroughly  miserable  and  unset 
tled.  As  soon  as  Mary  had  so  positively 
refused  him,  he  began  to  have  doubts  and  long 
ings.  "  Drumloch  was  a  fine  estate — the  name 
was  old  and  honorable,  and  in  a  fair  way  for 
greater  honors — Mary  was  sweet  and  sensible, 
and  a  woman  to  be  desired  above  all  other 
women — except  Maggie.  Yet,  after  all,  was  he 
not  paying  a  great  price  for  his  pearl  ?  "  Mary 
and  Maggie  were  both  difficult  to  resign.  He 
began  to  grumble  at  events  and  to  blame  every 
one  but  himself.  "If  his  father  had  not  been 
so  unreasonable,  he  never  would  have  gone  to 
Edinburgh  at  the  time  he  did — never  would 
have  gone  to  Pittenloch — never  would  have  met 
Maggie  Promoter." 

John  Campbell  came  home  in  unusually  high 
spirits.  He  had  made  a  profitable  contract, 
and  he  had  done  a  kindness  to  an  old  friend. 
Both  circumstances  had  been  mental  tonics  to 
him.  He  felt  himself  a  happy  man.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  dinner  table  chilled  him  a 


102  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

little,  but  for  once  the  subject  on  which  he  was 
always  hoping  and  fearing  did  not  enter  his 
mind.  When  Mary  left  the  room,  he  said 
cheerfully,  "  We  will  be  with  you  anon,  dearie, 
and  then  you  shall  sing  for  us,  '  The  Lass  O' 
Cowrie,'  and  he  began  to  hum  the  pretty  mel 
ody  as  he  poured  out  for  himself  another  glass 
of  port.  "  Help  yourself,  Allan.  You  do  not 
seem  very  bright  to-night." 

"  I  do  not  feel  very  bright.  Mary  told  me 
positively  this  morning  that  she  would  not 
marry  me." 

"  What !  Not  marry  you  ?  Did  you  ask 
her?" 

"  She  said  'no  '." 

"  Oh,  but  she  be  to  marry  you  !  Your  father 
would  not  have  taken  '  no  ',  sir." 

"A  man  cannot  force  a  rich  girl  to  be  his 
wife.  If  you  will  speak  to  Mary,  you  will 
understand  how  useless  any  further  hope  is." 

"  I  will  speak  to  her.  I  can  hardly  believe 
this  sorrow  has  really  come  to  me." 

He  rose  and  went  to  his  niece.  "  Come  here, 
Mary,  and  sit  down  beside  me.  Allan  tells  me 
you  will  not  have  him  for  your  husband.  Your 
decision  is  a  sore  trouble  to  me ;  almost  the 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  103 

worst  trouble  that  could  come  to  me.  Oh, 
Mary,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is  not  Allan  hand 
some,  and  kind,  and  good,  and  rich  enough  to 
mate  you?  And  he  loves  you,  too;  I  am  sure 
he  loves  you ;  he  could  not  help  it." 

"  But,  uncle,  what  if  he  loves  some  other  girl 
better  than  me?" 

"That  isn't  possible.  Did  he  tell  you  such 
a  thing  as  that?" 

"  No ;  but  I  am  sure  it  is  so.  However, 
Allan  is  the  second  thought,  uncle  ;  Drumloch 
is  the  first.  We  must  save  Drumloch  for  the 
Campbells,  uncle." 

"  You  dear  lassie  !  But  how  can  that  be  done 
if  Allan  is  not  in  the  same  mind?" 

"  Three  things  may  happen,  uncle.  I  may 
remain  unmarried,  I  may  marry,  I  may  die.  If 
I  remain  unmarried,  I  am  only  the  steward  of 
Drumloch  ;  I  shall  save  it  for  Allan  or  Allan's 
children.  If  I  die,  its  disposition  will  be  the 
same.  If  I  marry  into  a  strange  name  or  fam 
ily,  I  will  sell  Drumloch  to  you  before  I  change 
my  name." 

"You  are  a  wise,  kindly  little  woman ;  and 
you  have  found  a  drop  of  comfort  for  me.  I 
will  buy  Drumloch  any  day  you  wish  to  sell  it. 


104  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

May  be  then  I'll  be  Campbell  of  Drumloch  my 
self." 

"  Drumloch  will  be  well  off  with  such  a  laird. 
I  would  not  fret  yourself  one  moment,  uncle. 
There  is  more  good  in  a  disappointment  than 
can  be  seen." 

"God  bless  you,  my  dearie!  Allan  is  blind, 
and  deaf,  and  foolish,  or  he  would  never  have 
taken  '  no  '  from  you." 

"  He  is  in  love,  uncle.  That  accounts  for 
everything.  Do  you  know  where  he  was  during 
his  last  absence?" 

"  On  the  east  coast,  making  pictures.  The 
two  he  gave  me  are  wonderful.  He  has  genius 
certainly ;  the  Campbells  mostly  have  genius. 
I  had  siller  to  make,  or  I  could  have  painted 
pictures  myself.  I  have  a  remarkable  percep 
tion  anent  color." 

"  He  was  in  the  Fife  fishing  villages." 

"And  a  very  good  place  for  subjects.  The 
Fife  fishers  are  a  fine  race — faithful,  religious, 
handsome." 

"  Very  handsome,  I  should  think.  Did  you 
notice  the  woman  in  the  pictures  Allan  gave 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did  ;  a  splendid  study  in  both  cases." 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  105 

"  Have  you  been  in  Allan's  room  lately?" 

"  Not  since  he  returned  home." 

"  Go  to  it  to-night.  You  will  find  the  walls 
covered  with  studies  from  Fife.  In  nearly  every 
study  the  same  figure  reappears.  That  is  the 
woman  Allan  loves.  I  am  right,  uncle ;  I  feel 
I  am." 

"  A  fisher-girl !  " 

"  Perhaps ;  but  what  a  fisher-girl !  The 
mother  of  men  must  have  been  like  her.  There 
is  one  picture  in  which  she  leans  against  a 
jagged  mass  of  rocks,  gazing  over  the  sea.  The 
face  is  so  splendid,  the  figure  so  fine,  the  sense 
of  life  so  ample,  that  it  haunts  you.  And  every 
likeness  of  her  has  just  that  tinge  of  melancholy 
which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  things  that  are 
truly  happy,  or  truly  beautiful.  How  could 
Allan  care  for  any  other  woman,  having  seen 
her?" 

"  You  are  a  quick  observer,  Mary." 

"  The  heart  has  its  oracles  as  well  as  the  head, 
uncle." 

She  spoke  sadly,  and  John  Campbell  looked 
with  a  kindly  curiosity  at  her.  He  felt  almost 
certain  that  she  had  suffered  a  keen  disappoint 
ment,  as  well  as  himself.  "  But  she  would  die 


106  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

before  she  would  make  a  complaint,"  he 
thought,  "  and  I  may  learn  a  lesson  from  her. 
It  is  a  weak  soul  that  is  not  capable  of  its  own 
consolation.  She  has  evidently  determined  to 
make  the  best  of  things  beyond  her  sorting." 

After  a  short  silence,  Mary  slipped  quietly 
from  the  room.  John  Campbell  scarcely  noticed 
her  departure.  He  had  the  heartache,  and  men 
of  sixty  have  it  far  worse  than  men  of  twenty. 
When  their  hopes  fail,  they  have  no  time  left, 
often  no  ability  left  to  renew  them.  To  make 
the  best  of  things  was  all  that  now  remained  ; 
and  he  was  the  more  able  to  do  this  because  of 
Mary's  promise  to  him.  But  it  is  always  hard 
to  feel  in  the  evening  that  our  day's  work  has 
been  unsuccessful,  and  that  resignation,  and 
not  success,  must  make  the  best  of  the  hours 
remaining. 

As  he  mused  the  storm,  which  had  threat 
ened  all  the  afternoon,  broke.  The  swash  and 
patter  of  the  rain  against  the  windows,  and  the 
moaning  of  the  trees  on  the  lawn,  made  a  dreary 
accompaniment  to  his  melancholy  musings.  It 
grew  chill,  and  a  footman  entered,  put  a  match 
to  the  laid  fuel,  and  lighted  the  gas.  Then 
John  Campbell  made  an  effort  to  shake  off  the 


OFF  WITH  THE  OLD  LOVE.  107 

influence  which  oppressed  him.  He  laid  down 
the  ivory  paper  knife,  which  he  had  been  turn 
ing  mechanically  in  his  fingers,  rose,  and  went 
to  the  window.  How  dark  it  was  !  The  drip 
ping  outlook  made  him  shiver,  and  he  turned 
back  to  the  slowly  burning  fire.  But  solitude 
and  inaction  became  unbearable.  "  Regretting 
never  mended  wrong;  if  I  cannot  get  the  best, 
I  can  try  for  the  second  best.  And  perhaps 
the  lad  is  not  beyond  reasoning  with."  Then 
he  rose,  and  with  a  decided  air  and  step  went 
straight  to  Allan's  room. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MAGGIE. 

"  O,  Love  !  let  this  ray  lady's  picture  glow 

Under  my  hand  to  praise  her  name,  and  show 
Even  of  her  inner  self  a  perfect  whole  : 
That  he  who  seeks  her  beauty's  furthest  goal, 

Beyond  the  light  that  the  sweet  glances  throw 
And  refluent  wave  of  the  sweet  smile,  may  know 
The  very  sky  and  sea-line  of  her  soul." 


suite  of  rooms  which  belonged  espe- 
J.  cially  to  the  heir  of  Meriton  were  very 
handsome  ones,  and  their  long,  lofty  parlor  was 
full  of  art  treasures  gathered  from  the  various 
cities  which  Allan  had  visited.  The  fire  in  this 
room  had  been  lighted  for  some  time  and  was 
burning  cheerily,  and  the  young  man  sat  in  its 
ruddy  glow  when  his  father  entered. 

"I  was  lonely  to-night,  Allan,  so  I  have  come 
to  make  you  a  visit." 

"  You  do  me  a  great  honor,  sir,  and  are  most 
welcome."  And  he  went  to  meet  him  gladly. 
But  as  Blair,  his  valet,  was  softly  moving  about 


MAGGIE.  109 

in  an  inner  room,  conversation  was  confined  to 
conventional  grooves  until  the  servant  with  a 
low  "  good  night,  sir,"  glided  away.  As  soon 
as  they  were  alone  the  effort  to  conceal 
emotion  was  mutually  abandoned.  John 
Campbell  sat  on  one  side  of  the  hearth,  with 
his  head  dropped  toward  his,  folded  hands. 
Allan  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  glowing 
coals ;  but  he  was  painfully  aware  of  his 
father's  unhappy  presence,  and  waiting  for  him 
to  open  the  conversation  which  he  saw  was 
inevitable. 

"  I  have  had  a  knock-me-down  blow  to-night, 
son  Allan." 

"  And  I  am  much  to  blame  for  it ;  that  is 
what  grieves  me,  father." 

"You  are  altogether  to  blame  for  it,  Allan. 
I  thought  Mary  loved  you  when  you  came 
home  this  summer;  to-night  I  am  sure  she 
loves  you.  You  must  have  made  some  great 
blunder  or  she  would  have  married  you." 

"  There  was  a  great  blunder.  I  did  the 
thing  accidentally  which  I  had  often  had  in  my 
heart  to  do,  but  which  I  am  very  certain  would 
have  been  impossible  to  me,  had  it  not  blun 
dered  out  in  a  very  miserable  way.  We  were 


1 10  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

speaking  of  my  late  absence,  and  I  let  her 
know  that  she  had  been  the  cause  of  our  dis 
pute,  the  reason  why  I  had  left  home." 

"  If  you  had  planned  to  get  '  no,'  you  could 
have  taken  no  better  way.  What  girl  worth 
having  would  take  you  after  you  had  let  her 
understand  you  preferred  a  quarrel  with  your 
father,  and  an  exile  from  your  home,  to  a  mar 
riage  with  her  ?  " 

"  I  would,  for  your  sake,  father,  unsay  the 
words  if  I  could.  Is  there  any  excuse,  any — ' 

"  There  is  no  excuse  but  time  and  absence. 
Mary  loves  you  ;  go  away  from  her  sight  and 
hearing  until  she  forgets  the  insult  you  have 
given  her.  I  don't  mean  go  away  to  the  east 
or  to  the  west  coast,  or  even  to  London  or 
Paris.  I  mean  go  far  away — to  China  or 
Russia ;  or,  better  still,  to  America.  I  have 
friends  in  every  large  sea-port.  You  shall  have 
all  that  my  name  and  money  can  do  to  make 
your  absence  happy — and  women  forgive !  Yes, 
they  forget  also  ;  wipe  the  fault  quite  out,  and 
believe  again  and  again.  God  bless  them ! 
You  can  write  to  Mary.  Where  a  lover  can 
not  go  he  can  send,  and  you  need  not  blunder 
into  insults  when  you  write  your  words.  You 


MAGGIE.  Ill 

have  time  to  think  and  to  rewrite.  I  shall  have 
to  part  with  you  again,  son  Allan.  I  feel  it 
very  bitterly." 

Allan  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  sat 
looking  at  his  father's  bent  face  and  heavy 
eyes.  The  blow  had  really  aged  him,  for  "  'tis 
the  heart  holds  up  the  body."  And  to-night 
John  Campbell's  heart  had  failed  him.  He 
realized  fully  that  the  absence  and  interval 
necessary  to  heal  Mary's  sense  of  wrong  and 
insult  might  also  be  full  of  other  elements 
equally  inimical  to  his  plans.  Besides,  he  had 
a  real  joy  in  his  son's  presence.  He  loved  him 
tenderly  ;  it  maimed  every  pleasure  he  had  to 
give  him  up. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Allan?  There  has  been 
a  mistake,  and  we  must  make  the  best  of  the 
chances  left  us.  Had  you  not  better  go  away? 
Mary  will  forgive  you  sooner  at  a  distance." 

Allan  bit  his  lips,  and  looked  steadily  at  the 
kind,  sorrowful  face  opposite  him.  Then  he 
answered,  "You  are  too  good  a  father  to 
deceive,  sir.  I  will  not  do  you  that  wrong, 
however  angry  you  may  be  with  me.  I  love 
another  woman.  I  never  can  marry  Mary 
without  wronging  both  her  and  myself." 


112  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  That  alters  everything,  Allan.  How  long 
have  you  loved  this  other  woman  ?" 

"  Since  I  left  home  last  March." 

"  You  cannot  be  sure  of  a  love  only  a  few 
months  old.  Will  you  tell  me  who  she  is?  " 

Allan  took  a  taper  and  lit  every  gas-jet  in 
the  room.  "  Look  around,  father,  you  will  see 
her  everywhere."  He  led  him  first  to  the 
picture  still  upon  his  easel — Maggie,  in  her 
long,  brown  merino  kirk  dress ;  with  linen 
cuffs  folded  back  over  the  tight,  plain  sleeves  ! 
and  a  small,  turned  down  linen  collar  at  the 
throat.  She  had  a  sea-shell  in  her  open  left 
palm,  and  she  was  looking  at  it,  with  that  faint 
melancholy  smile  Allan  always  chose  for  her 
face!  He  asked  for  no  criticism,  and  John 
Campbell  made  none.  Silently  the  two  men 
passed  from  picture  to  picture.  Maggie  always. 
Maggie  baking  the  oat  cakes.  Maggie  at  the 
wheel.  Maggie  mending  the  nets.  Maggie 
peering  through  misty  gloom  for  the  boats,  out 
on  the  angry  sea.  Maggie  bending  over  the 
open  Bible.  Maggie  with  a  neighbor's  baby 
cuddled  up  to  her  breast.  Maggie  rowing,  with 
the  wind  blowing  her  fine  hair  like  a  cloud 
around  her.  Maggie  knitting  by  the  fireside, 


MAGGIE.  113 

her  face  beaming  with  sisterly  love  on  the  pale 
dark  face  of  her  brother  David.  As  Allan  had 
said,  "  Maggie  everywhere." 

The  elder  man  went  back  to  look  at  several 
of  the  pictures  ;  he  stood  long  before  the  one  on 
the  easel.  He  sat  down  again,  still  silent ;  but 
Allan  saw  that  there  was  no  anger  on  his  face. 

"Well,  father?" 

"  She  is  a  grand  looking  woman.  No  one 
can  deny  that.  A  peasant  woman,  though  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  peasant  woman  ;  the  daughter 
of  a  Fife  fisherman." 

"  She  is  not  a  common  peasant  woman.  You 
could  not  believe  that  she  would  ever  kick  her 
heels  in  a  '  foursome  reel,'  or  pass  coarse  jokes 
with  the  lads.  Yet  she  must  be  uneducated, 
and  perhaps  vulgar." 

"  She  is  never  vulgar,  sir.  She  has  a  soul, 
and  she  is  conscious  of  it.  She  had  parents, 
grave  and  thoughtful,  who  governed  by  a  look, 
without  waste  of  words.  Though  she  lives  on 
the  wild  Fife  coast,  she  has  grown  up  beneath 
the  shade  of  Judea's  palms  ;  for  the  Bible  has 
blended  itself  with  all  her  life.  Sarah,  Moses, 
Joshua,  Ruth,  and  David,  are  far  more  real 
people  to  her  than  Peel  or  Wellington,  or 


114  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Jenny  Lind,  or  even  Victoria.  She  has  been 
fed  upon  faith,  subjected  to  duty,  and  made 
familiar  with  sorrow  and  suffering  and  death. 
The  very  week  I  met  her,  she  had  lost  her  father 
and  three  eldest  brothers  in  a  sudden  storm. 
If  you  could  see  her  eyes,  you  could  look  into 
her  pure  soul.  A  woman  like  that  is  never 
vulgar,  father." 

"  A  lover  is  allowed  to  exaggerate,  Allan." 
"  But  I  do  not  exaggerate.  Uneducated 
she  certainly  is.  She  can  write  a  little ;  and 
in  the  long  stormy  days  and  evenings,  I  read 
aloud  to  her  and  to  her  brother.  But  Scott 
and  Burns  and  Leigh  Hunt  are  not  an  educa 
tion.  Her  Bible  has  really  been  her  only 
teacher." 

"It  is  His  Word,"  said  John  Campbell, 
reverently.  "  It  is  the  best  of  teachers.  The 
generations  to  whom  Scotland  owes  every 
thing,  had  no  other  book.  It  made  her  men 
calm,  reflective,  courageous  unto  death.  It 
made  her  women  gentle,  faithful,  pure,  ideal. 
I  remember  my  mother,  Allan  ;  she  came  from 
the  same  school.  Her  soul  lived  so  much  in 
the  Book,  that  I  am  sure  if  an  angel  had  sud 
denly  appeared  to  her,  she  would  scarcely  have 


MAGGIE.  115 

been  surprised.  What  domestic  women  those 
were  !  How  peaceful  and  smiling !  How  fond 
of  the  children  !  How  dear  to  the  children  !  " 
Pie  had  wandered  a  few  moments  back  into  his 
own  past  ;  and  though  he  hastily  recalled  him 
self,  the  influence  was  upon  him. 

"Allan?" 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Have  you  said  anything  to  this  girl  ?  Have 
you  in  any  way  committed  your  promise  to 
her?" 

"  I  have  never  sought  her  love.  I  was  their 
guest,  I  would  not  wrong  her  by  a  thought. 
There  was  in  my  heart  a  real  intention  to  marry 
Mary  Campbell.  I  am  your  son,  do  you  think 
I  would  plot  shame  or  sorrow  for  any  girl?" 

"  Does  she  love  you  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell — sometimes  I  fear  so." 

"  Allan,  there  are  few  loves  that  conquer  life. 
Life  would  be  a  hurly-burly  of  unbridled  pas 
sion,  if  we  had  not  the  power  to  control  our 
likes  and  dislikes.  We  two  cannot  quarrel. 
You  are  my  one  child.  The  sole  desire  of  my 
heart  is  your  welfare  and  happiness.  We  will 
make  a  paction  between  us.  Go  away  for  two 
years.  Let  absence  test  the  love  you  have  con- 


Il6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

ceived  for  this  strange  girl.  At  the  end  of  it 
you  will  either  love  her  better;  or  your  heart 
will  have  turned  back  to  the  friend  and  hope  of 
your  childhood  and  youth.  If  so,  Mary  will 
forgive  you,  and  I  may  yet  see  you  Laird  of 
Drumloch.  But  if  the  new  love  outgrows  the 
old  ;  if  you  are  sure,  after  two  years'  test,  that 
none  but  this  fisher-girl  can  be  your  wife,  I  will 
not  oppose  your  happiness.  I  can  trust  you  to 
bring  no  woman  to  Meriton  who  will  be  a 
shame  or  a  grief  to  my  old  age." 

He  leaned  forward  and  put  out  his  hand ; 
Allan  clasped  and  kissed  it.  "  No  man  could 
have  a  wiser  or  a  kinder  father.  I  will  do  what 
ever  you  advise,  sir." 

"  You  will  not  require  to  go  to  Fife  again,  I 
hope? " 

"  I  promised  to  go  there  again.  I  must  keep 
my  word.  It  would  be  cruel  to  drop  out  of  so 
dear  a  life,  and  if  she  loves  me,  give  her  neither 
hope  nor  promise." 

"Write." 

"  I  promised  to  go." 

"Then  keep  your  word.  I  can  depend  upon 
you.  If  you  say  anything  to  her,  tell  the  whole 
truth.  Allan,  I  am  not  asking  more  from  you 


MAGGIE.  117 

than  I  have  already  given.  Some  years  ago,  I 
met  again  bonnie  Jessie  Russell.  She  was  my 
first  love.  I  nearly  broke  my  heart  about  her. 
The  old  affection  came  back  to  both  of  us.  I 
could  have  married  her  then,  but  she  was  a 
widow  with  four  children.  I  would  not  divide 
your  inheritance.  I  put  down  my  own  longing, 
and  thought  only  of  you,  and  of  Drumloch. 
Love  is  meant  to  comfort  and  brighten  life,  but 
not  to  rule  it  like  a  despot.  I  have  had  my 
say.  Good  night,  Allan." 

He  rose  and  went  slowly  out  of  the  room, 
and  he  stopped  at  the  easel  and  looked  again  at 
the  pictured  woman  upon  it.  "  Does  she  know 
who  you  are,  Allan  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  knows  only  that  my  name  is  Campbell." 
"  Do  not  tell  her  more.  When  a  love  affair 
gets  named,  it  travels  far.  I  draw  many  sailors 
from  the  Fife  sea-towns.  We  don't  want 
strangers  to  discuss  our  personal  affairs  ;  " — and 
leaning  upon  Allan's  arm,  he  passed  out  of  the 
room,  in  which  he  had  not  only  bravely  buried 
his  own  desires,  but  also,  wisely  and  kindly 
accepted  others  materially  altering  the  few 
years  of  life  left  him.  But  oh,  how  selfish  is 
youth  !  Only  one  thing  is  indispensable  to  it, 


Il8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

the  need  of  being  happy  at  any  cost.  How 
good  is  God  to  those  whom  he  permits  to  ripen 
into  middle,  and  old  age,  and  become  mellow, 
and  generous,  and  self-forgetting  ! 

It  will  be  seen,  then,  that  John  Campbell  was 
not  one  of  those  money-makers  with  stunted 
senses,  and  incomplete  natures,  for  whom  all 
the  grapes  in  the  garden  of  God  are  sour.  He 
had  loved  and  suffered,  the  songs  of  his  native 
land  had  sweet  echoes  in  his  heart,  he  could 
appreciate  beauty,  he  delighted  in  color,  he  had 
learned  the  blessedness  of  giving  and  forgiving, 
he  had  found  out  that  with  renunciation  the 
higher  life  begins.  When  Allan  told  him  in 
the  morning  that  he  was  going  to  Fife,  he 
accepted  the  information  pleasantly,  as  part  of 
an  understood  arrangement. 

"  Will  you  be  long  away,  Allan  ?  " 
"  A  few  days,  sir." 

"And  when  you  return  ?     What  then  ?" 
"  I  have  decided  to  go  Westward." 
"  I    am    glad  of    it.     Boston !  New    York ! 
Baltimore  !  Charleston  !  New    Orleans  !     Why 
the  very  names  are  epics  of  enterprise  !     Old  as 
I  am,  if  I  could  win  away  from  my  desk,  I 
would  take  a  year  or  two  to  read  them." 


MAGGIE.  119 

They  parted  pleasantly  with  a  lingering  hand 
clasp,  and  words  of  "  good  speed  ;  "  and  though 
Allan  was  going  to  bid  Maggie  a  long  farewell, 
he  was  light-hearted,  for  it  was  not  a  hopeless 
one.  If  she  loved  him,  and  could  have  patience 
for  two  years,  he  would  be  free  to  make  her 
his  wife.  And  he  intended  to  give  her  this 
hope  to  share  with  him. 

When  he  arrived  in  Edinburgh,  the  city  was 
all  astir  with  moving  regiments,  and  the  clear, 
crisp  autumn  air  thrilling  with  military  music 
— that  admirable  metallic  music  so  well  disci 
plined,  so  correct,  and  yet  all  the  more  ardent 
and  passionate  for  its  very  restraint.  It  typi 
fied  to  him  the  love  he  had  for  Maggie  Promo 
ter.  Its  honorable  limitations,  the  patience 
and  obedience  by  which  it  was  restricted,  only 
made  it  stronger ;  and  he  understood  how  in 
order  to  love  a  woman  well,  truth  and  honor 
must  be  loved  still  better. 

The  first  person  he  saw  upon  Leith  pier  was 
Willie  Johnson.  "  Willie  !  "  he  cried,  laughing 
outright  in  his  pleasured  surprise  ;  "  have  you 
come  to  take  me  to  Pittenloch  ?  I  want  to  go 
there." 

"  Hech !  but    I'm    glad  to   see  you,  Master 


120  A  DAUG PITER  OF  FIFE. 

Campbell,  I'll  put  to  sea  noo.  I  cam'  awa'  in 
spite  o'  twaill  signs,  and  the  wind  turned  wrang, 
and  my  feesh  all  spoiled,  and  I  hae  had  a 
handfu'  o'  bad  luck.  Sae  I  was  waiting  for 
the  luck  tide  to  turn,  and  there  is  nane  can  turn 
it  sae  weel  as  yoursel'.  We'll  be  awa'  hame 
noo,  and  we'll  hae  wind  and  water  with  us." 

"  Sing  wo  and  well-a-day  !  but  still 
May  the  good  omens  shame  the  ill," 

said  Allan  gayly ;  and  the  old  classical  couplet 
sent  his  thoughts  off  to  the  ^Egean  sea  and  the 
Greek  fishermen,  and  the  superstitions  which 
are  the  soul  alphabet  of  humanity. 

Johnson  had  very  little  news  for  him  5 
"  There's  few  wonderfu'  to  see,  or  hear  tell  o', 
in  Pittenloch,  sir.  The  Promoters  were  you 
asking  for?  Ay,  they  are  well,  and  doing  well, 
and  like  to  do  better  still.  They  say  that 
David  is  quite  upsetten  wi'  his  good  luck,  and 
keeps  himsel'  mair  from  folk  than  need  be. 
But  a  fu'  cup  is  hard  to  carry." 

"They  are  mistaken,  Johnson,  I  am  sure. 
David  Promoter  has  not  a  pennyworth  of 
personal  pride  in  him.  He  is  studying  hard, 
and  books — " 


MAGGIE.  121 

"Books!  sir,  he's  got  a  boat  fu'  o'  them. 
It  isn't  vera  kindly  taken,  his  using  a  boat  for 
kirk  business.  Some  think  it  willna  be  lucky 
for  the  rest." 

"  What  foolishness,  Willie  !  " 

"  'Deed,  sir,  it  is  just  an  invite  to  misfortune 
to  bring  the  kirk  into  the  boats.  There's 
naething  so  unlucky  around  them  as^  a  minis 
ter,  if  it  be  nae  a  black  cat,  or  a  pair  o'  tongs." 

Allan  laughed  ;  he  could  not  help  laughing, 
he  was  so  happy.  Maggie  was  growing  nearer 
to  him  every  moment ;  and  it  was  a  real  joy 
to  be  again  upon  the  sea,  to  feel  the  fresh 
wind  blowing  through  his  hair,  and  the  cra 
dling  motion  of  the  wide  swell  of  the  waves. 
Early  in  the  morning  they  arrived  at  Pitten- 
loch.  There  was  the  brown  pier,  and  the  blue 
water,  and  the  spaces  of  yellow  sand,  and  the 
sea-weed  and  tangle  all  populous  with  birds 
whose  shrill  cries  filled  the  air.  There  were 
the  white  cottages,  and  the  men  strolling  off 
to  the  boats  and  the  women  in  the  open  doors 
watching  them  away. 

There  was  the  Promoters  cottage.  It  was 
closed  and  Allan  was  disappointed.  Surely 
Maggie  should  have  felt  him  coming.  Every 


122  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

moment  as  he  went  toward  it,  he  expected  the 
door  to  open,  and  a  sense  of  unkindness  was 
chilling  his  heart,  when  he  heard  a  swift,  light 
step  behind  him.  He  turned,  and  there  stood 
Maggie.  She  had  the  dew  of  the  sea  on  her 
face,  her  cheeks  were  like  a  rose,  pink  and  wet 
before  sunrise.  Her  eyes  had  a  glint  as  of  the 
morning  star  in  them,  she  was  trembling  and 
panting  with  her  surprise  and  rapid  motion. 

He  had  thought  of  the  sweetest  words  to 
greet  her  with,  he  had  imagined  that  he  might  find 
it  possible  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  his 
welcome  from  her  lips.  But  in  spite  of  her  evi 
dent  gladness,  something  in  her  manner 
restrained  him  ;  also,  there  was  Christie  Buchan, 
and  half  a  dozen  other  women  watching  them. 
So  what  he  said  and  did,  was  only  to  hold  out 
his  hand,  and  ask,  "Are  you  well,  Maggie? 
Are  you  glad  to  see  me?" 

"  Weel,  and  right  happy,  sir." 

"And  David?" 

"  He  is  weel  and  happy  too,  sir.  He  likes 
the  early  hours  for  study,  and  I  aye  try  to  tak* 
a  walk  and  let  him  hae  the  house  place  quiet, 
and  to  himsel'." 

"  He  should  have  used  my  room.     Students 


MAGGIE.  123 

are  tyrants,  Maggie,  if  you  give  in  to  them,  they 
will  stop  the  clock  and  make  you  breathe  with 
your  fingers  on  your  lips." 

Smiling,  she  opened  the  door  and  said,  "  Step 
inside,  sir;  there's  nae  foot  welcomer." 

"  I  thocht  you  wad  come  !  I  said  you  wad 
come  !"  cried  David  joyfully.  <(  Noo  I'm  the 
proudest  man  in  Fife !  Maggie,  let  us  hae  some 
tea,  and  a  kippered  herring,  and  toast  the  oat 
cake  crisp.  I'll  no  call  the  king  my  cousin 
to-day  !  Mr.  Campbell,  you  are  just  the  answer 
to  my  heart's  desire." 

"  Thank  you,  David.  It  is  pleasant  to  be 
made  so  much  of " — and  he  opened  the  door 
of  his  room,  and  cried  out,  "  O  how  nice  it  is, 
Maggie  !  I  will  just  wash  the  salt  off  my  face 
and  then  come  and  breakfast  with  you  ;  and 
toast  me  a  couple  of  herring,  Maggie,  for  I  am 
as  hungry  as  a  fisherman,  and  I  have  not  tasted 
a  herring  since  I  left  Pittenloch." 

Three  at  a  little  round  table,  and  only  some 
tea,  and  fish,  and  oat  cake  ;  and  yet,  never  was 
there  a  gayer  meal.  After  it  was  over,  David 
was  eager  to  show  Allan  what  he  had  accom 
plished,  and  the  young  men  went  together  into 
Allan's  room  to  examine  lexicons  and  exercises. 


124 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 


David  was  full  of  quick  interest,  and  Allan 
deserved  credit  for  affecting  a  sympathy  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  feel.  In  a  little  while, 
some  one  began  to  sing :  and  the  voice  was 
singularly  clear,  and  sweetly  penetrating. 
Allan  put  down  the  papers  in  his  hand,  and 
listened  like  one  entranced. 

"  It's  just  Maggie,  and  I'm  mair  astonished 
at  her.  She  hasna  sung  a  word  since  fayther's 
death.  What  for  is  she  singing  the  noo?  It's 
no  kind  o'  her,  and  me  wi'  yoursel'  and  the 
books  ;  "  said  David  very  fretfully ;  for  he  did 
not  like  to  be  interrupted  in  his  recitations. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  I  would  not  lose  a  syllable 
for  all  the  Latin  language,  David."  * 


tf-4-  —  :  —  ' 

zd—  ~9—  - 

H  *  £~~ 

-£  *  (— 

JL 

^s 

My    heart     is      yearning    to     thee,       O     Skye, 


Dear  -  cst      of     isl  -  ands  1     There  first   the  sun  -  shine 

[=j=*=^— j -i-: 


=r«zz^nz^ 

^=Untcz{i 


gladdened  my       eye,       On        the     sea      spark  -  ling  ; 


*  Words  and  air  by  Alexander  Nicholson,  LL.  D. 


MAGGIE.  125 


There  doth    the    dust 
rail. 


E, 

rs 

—  0  1 

II 

—  * 

•   • 

0  0  Jj 

ID          the    old     grave  -  yard, 

"  Bright  are  the  golden  green  fields  to  me 

Here  in  the  lowlands  ; 
Sweet  sings  the  mavis  in  the  thorn  tree 

Snowy  with  fragrance ; 

But  oh  for  a  breath  of  the  great  North  sea 

Girdling  the  mountains  ! 

Good  is  the  smell  of  the  brine  that  laves 

Black  rock  and  skerry  ; 
Where  the  great  palm-leaved  tangle  waves 

Down  in  the  green  depths, 
And  round  the  craggy  bluff,  pierced  with  caves, 

Sea-gulls  are  screaming. 

Many  a  hearth  round  that  friendly  shore 

Giveth  warm  welcome  ; 
Charms  still  are  there,  as  in  days  of  yore, 

More  than  of  mountains  ; 
But  hearths  and  faces  are  seen  no  more 

Once  of  the  brightest. 

Many  a  poor  black  cottage  is  there 

Grimy  with  peat  smoke  ; 

Sending  up  in  the  soft  evening  air 


126  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Purest  blue  incense, 

While  the  low  music  of  psalm  and  prayer 
Rises  to  heaven. 

Kind  were  the  voices  I  used  to  hear 

Round  such  a  fireside  ; 
Speaking  the  mother  tongue  old  and  dear, 

Making  the  heart  beat 
With  endless  tales  of  wonder  and  fear, 

Of  plaintive  singing. 

Reared  in  those  dwellings  have  brave  ones  been  ; 

Brave  ones  are  still  there  ; 
Forth  from  their  darkness  on  Sunday  I've  seen 

Conning  pure  linen, 
And,  like  the  linen,  the  souls  were  clean 

Of  them  that  wore  it. 

Blessings  be  with  ye,  both  now  and  aye, 

Dear  human  creatures  ! 
Yours  is  the  love  no  gold  can  buy, 

Nor  time  wither. 
Peace  be  to  thee  and  thy  children,  O  Skye  ! 

Dearest  of  Islands  ! " 

"  That  is  not  one  of  your  fisher  songs,  David  ?  " 

"  Na,  na ;  it  is  a  sang  made  aboot  Skye,  and 

our  mither  was  a  Skye  woman ;  sae    Maggie 

learned  it  to  please  her.     I  dinna  think  much  o' 

it." 

"  It  is  the  most  touching  thing  I  ever  heard." 


MAGGIE.  127 

The  melody  was  Gaelic,  slow  and  plaintive,  and 
though  Maggie  gave  the  English  words  with 
her  own  patois,  the  beauty  and  simplicity  of 
the  song  was  by  no  means  injured.  "  Put  by 
the  books,  David,"  said  Allan.  "  I  have  no 
heart  now  for  dry-as-dust  lessons.  Let  us  speak 
of  Maggie.  How  is  she  going  to  live  when  you 
go  to  Glasgow?  " 

"  She  will  just  bide  where  she  is.  It  is  her 
ain  hame,  and  she  is  amang  her  ain  folk." 

"  Surely  she  will  not  live  alone  ?  " 

"Na,  na,  that  wed  gie  occasion  for  ill  tongues 
to  set  themsel's  to  wark.  Aunt  Janet  Caird  is 
coming  to  be  company  for  her.  She  is  fayther's 
sister,  and  no  quite  beyond  the  living  wi'.  I 
thocht  o'  taking  the  boat  the  morn,  and  going 
for  her." 

"Where  to?" 

"  About  twenty  miles  to  the  nor' ward,  to  a 
bit  hamlet,  thae  call  Dron  Point." 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  is  she,  David  ?  I 
hope  she  is  kind  and  pleasant." 

"  We  can  hope  sae,  sir ;  but  I  really  dinna 
expect  it.  Aunt  Janet  had  a  bad  name  wi'  us, 
when  we  were  bairns,  but  bairns'  judgment  isn't 
to  lippen  to." 


128  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  I  think  it  is.  If  you  have  any  fear  about 
Aunt  Janet  being  good  to  live  with,  don't  go 
for  her." 

"The  thing  is  a' settled  between  her  and 
oursel's.  Maggie  and  I  talked  it  o'er  and  o'er. 
There  wasna  any  other  thing  to  do.  All  o'  oor 
kin  but  Aunt  Janet  hae  big  families  o'  their  am 
to  look  after.  Maggie  willna  hear  tello'  leaving 
the  cottage,  and  she  canna  stay  in  it  her  lane. 
Sae,  she  must  tak'  the  ill  and  gude  thegither." 

"  For  my  own  sake  I  am  glad  she  stays  in  the 
cottage,  because  I  wish  to  keep  possession  of 
my  room.  Your  face  need  not  cloud,  David  ; 
I  am  not  coming  here  at  all ;  but  it  is  "incon 
venient  for  me  to  remove  my  books,  and  the 
many  sea-treasures  I  gathered  during  my  stay 
with  you.  If  I  did  remove  them,  I  should  have 
to  store  them  in  some  other  place,  so  it  will  be 
a  kindness,  if  you  will  continue  to  rent  me  the 
room." 

"  Your  foot  is  aye  welcome  in  my  house,  sir  ; 
and  when  you  are  wanting  a  week's  fishing, 
there  is  naething  to  prevent  you  taking  it,  if 
Aunt  Janet  is  here.  She  is  a  vera  strict  pair- 
son  ;  the  deil  himsel'  wouldna  be  suspected  o' 
wrang-doing,  if  she  were  watching  him." 


MAGGIE.  129 

"  Poor  Maggie !  David,  it  does  seem  a  hard 
lookout  for  her ;  especially  when  you  will  be 
so  happy  with  your  books,  and  I  am  going  on  a 
two  years'  pleasure  trip  to  America." 

David's  face  brightened  involuntarily,  and. 
Allan  could  see  that  the  thought  of  his  certain 
absence  was  not  at  all  displeasing.  But  he  did 
not  blame  him  for  a  fear  so  brotherly  and 
natural ;  he  was,  however,  dissatisfied  with  the 
arrangements  made  for  Maggie's  comfort,  and 
he  asked,  "  Can  she  not  go  to  Glasgow  with 
you,  David  ?  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  have 
a  little  home  for  yourself  there,  and  Maggie  to 
look  after  your  comfort.  You  would  study 
better." 

"  I  wad  do  naething  o'  the  sort.  I  wad  be 
keepit  back  by  ony  woman.  There  is  many  a 
ceevil  word  to  say  to  them,  that  is  just  time 
and  strength  ta'en  from  study.  Maggie  kens 
weel,  that  when  I  hae  my  kirk,  she'll  be  first 
and  foremost  wi'  me.  I'll  count  nae  honor  or 
pleasure  worth  the  having  she  doesna  share. 
Forbye,  sir,  when  you  hae  a  hame,  and  the 
plenishing  o'  it,  folk  should  think  lang  ere  they 
scatter  it  to  the  four  winds.  It  is  easy  to  get 
rid  o'  household  things ;  whiles,  it  is  maist 


130  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

impossible  to  get  them  thegither  again.  I 
might  die,  and  Maggie  be  left  to  fight  her  ain 
battle.  If  it  should  come  to  that,  Hame  is 
a  full  cup ;  Hame  is  a  breastwark ;  you  can 
conquer  maist  things  on  your  ain  hearth 
stone." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  David." 

"  I  ken  weel  I  am  right.  Maggie  and  I  hae 
thocht  o'  every  thing ;  her  gude  name,  and  her 
happiness  is  my  first  wish.  She  is  vera  dear  to 
me.  She  is  a'  I  have,  sir." 

"  I  shall  not  be  in  Pittenloch  for  two  years, 
David,  so  I  will  pay  you  now  for  the  use  of  my 
room.  The  rent  I  believe  is  seven  shillings 
weekly,  that  is  £,$6.  I  wish  you  would  give  this 
sum  entire  to  Maggie.  I  should  like  her  to 
feel  in  some  measure  independent ;  and  I 
should  like  you  to  feel  that  you  had  no  neces 
sity  to  take  thought  about  her  from  week  to 
week." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  for  the  kind  thocht,  as  weel 
as  for  the  siller  ;  and  I  shall  tell  Maggie  to  keep 
the  knowledge  o'  it  from  her  aunt,  who  is  a 
woman  o'  a  vera  parsimonious  disposition." 

"Also  my  boat  is  to  be  hers.  She  can  hire 
it  out  or  she  can  sell  it.  It  is  absolutely  her 


MAGGIE.  131 

own.  It  would  be  folly  for  me  to  keep  it 
rocking  at  anchor,  and  rusting  away.  I  can 
not  speak  to  her  on  such  subjects,  but  you 
will  be  sure  and  make  her  understand, 
David." 

"  'Deed  sir,  I'll  tak'  care  that  she  gets  the  gude 
o'  all  your  kindness.  It's  mair  than  thochtfu' 
o'  you ;  and  I'll  hae  nae  need  noo,  to  let 
Maggie  step  in  atween  me  and  my  ain  proper 
duties." 

Then  they  went  to  the  boat  together,  and 
David  removed  all  his  books  and  belongings 
from  her,  and  she  was  made  ready  to  go  for 
Aunt  Janet  the  following  morning.  The  rest 
of  the  day  went  rapidly  by,  Allan  had  many 
visits  to  make,  and  some  special  tokens  of 
regard  to  leave.  Then  they  had  tea  together 
at  Maggie's  fire-side,  and  Allan  watched  her 
once  more  stoop  to  the  glowing  turf,  and  light 
the  little  iron  cruisie,  and  rise  with  the  light 
from  it  on  her  beautiful  face.  The  simple 
household  act  was  always  one  of  meaning  and 
interest  to  him.  He  renewed  in  it  that 
moment  of  strange  delight  when  he  had  first 
seen  her.  This  evening  he  tried  to  catch  her 
eyes  as  she  rose,  and  he  did  so,  and  what  did 


132  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

she  see  in  his  steady  gaze  that  brought  the 
happy  blood  in  crimson  waves  over  her  throat 
and  face,  and  made  her  eyelids  shine  with  the 
light  that  was  underneath  them  ? 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   BROKEN   SIXPENCE. 

"  I  love  you,  sweet :  how  can  you  ever  learn 

How  much  I  love  you  ?  "  "  You  I  love  even  so, 
And  so  I  learn  it."     "  Sweet,  you  cannot  know 
How  fair  you  are."     "  If  fair  enough  to  earn 
Your  love,  so  much  is  all  my  love's  concern.'' 

"  Ah  !  happy  they  to  whom  such  words  as  these 
In  youth  have  served  for  speech  the  whole  day  long  !  " 

DAVID  left  early  in  the  morning  for  Dron 
Point,  and  Allan  went  to  the  pier  with  him, 
and  watched  the  boat  away.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  morning.  There  had  been,  all  night, 
surly  whiffs  of  rain,  and  the  sky  was  full  of 
gleam  and  gloom  and  guest. 

"  I  think  it  is  likely  Aunt  Janet  will  get  a 
good  sea-tossing,"  Allan  said  in  a  voice  of  satis 
faction,  and  David  smiled  grimly,  and  reflected 
audibly,  "  that  it  was  all  o'  twenty  miles,  and 
the  wind  dead  against  them,  for  the  hame 
coming." 


134  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Then  Allan  walked  rapidly  back  to  the  cot 
tage.  He  was  longing  to  speak  to  Maggie,  and 
every  moment  of  David's  absence  was  precious. 
She  was  far  from  expecting  him,  for  she  knew 
that  David  and  Allan  had  left  the  cottage 
together,  and  she  supposed  Allan  had  also  gone 
to  Dron  Point.  When  he  opened  the  door  the 
house  was  empty ;  but  glancing  up  the  beach, 
he  saw  Maggie,  with  her  head  bent  to  the  smit 
ing  rain,  slowly  making  her  way  home.  He  knew 
that  this  early  walk  had  become  a  usual  thing 
with  her,  and  he  understood  by  his  own  feelings, 
how  grateful  the  resolute  onward  march  against 
wind  and  rain  would  be  to  her  heart. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  pushed  open  the  cot 
tage  door ;  and  her  wet  rosy  face,  in  the  dark 
green  folds  of  the  plaid  over  her  head,  had  a 
vivid  distinctness.  When  she  saw  Allan  she 
trembled.  His  unexpected  presence,  the  eager 
longing  gaze  in  his  eyes,  his  outstretched  arms, 
the  soft,  penetrating  utterance  of  her  name, 
"  Maggie  !  dearest  Maggie  !  "  All  these  things 
were  an  instant's  revelation  to  her.  She  clasped 
her  hands  helplessly,  and  the  next  moment 
Allan  was  taking  the  wet  plaid  cJ  her  head 
and  shoulders,  and  whispering,  as  he  did  so,  all 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  135 

the  fond  words  which  he  had  so  long  re 
strained. 

She  let  him  tell  her  again  and  again  how 
much  he  loved  her.  She  had  no  more  power 
to  resist  the  sweet  pleading,  than  a  man  dying 
of  thirst  has  power  to  resist  water.  For  a  few 
moments  she  surrendered  herself  to  a  joy  so 
pure  and  so  unexpected.  "  Oh  Maggie,  sweet 
est  Maggie,  tell  me  that  you  love  me  :  that  you 
love  none  but  me,  that  you  will  marry  none 
but  me,'''  pleaded  Allan. 

"  I  have  aye  loved  you,  sir.  I  dreamed  about 
you  when  I  was  a  lassie.  I  keepit  the  thocht 
o'  you  close  in  my  heart.  When  you  lookit 
at  me  the  night  you  cam'  here  first,  I  kent 
you,  and  I  loved  you  that  vera  moment.  What- 
e'er  the  love  I  give  to  you,  it  is  your  ain,  my 
soul  brought  it  into  the  warld  for  you,  and  for 
nae  other  man." 

"  In  two  years,  Maggie,  I  will  come  for  you. 
My  wife !  My  wife  !  " 

"  I'll  no  say  that,  sir;  not  just  yet.  Marry 
ing  is  o'  this  warld.  Loving  is  from  somewhere 
beyond  it.  You  told  me  about  another  leddy  ; 
and  beside  that,  I  wouldna  come  atween  you 
and  your  fayther. 


136  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  the  other  lady,  and  she 
has  refused  me." 

"  Puir  thing  !  I'm  dooting  you  asked  her  for 
the  refusal.  I  hae  had  many  a  sair  heart  anent 
her  since  you  went  awa' ;  and  when  I  think  o* 
her,  I  dinna  feel  as  if  I  deserved  my  ain  joy." 

"  I  could  love  none  but  you,  Maggie.  And  I 
have  told  my  father  that  I  love  you.  I  have 
told  him  every  thing." 

"  Weel,  sir  ?     What  said  he  ? " 

"  He  only  asked  me  to  wait  for  two  years, 
and  during  that  time  to  stay  away  from  you." 

"  He  asked  jist  what  I  wad  hae  asked,  even 
for  mysel'.  I'm  a  poor  ignorant  fisher-lass,  I 
wouldna  daur  to  marry  you,  unless  you  had 
tried  your  love  for  me  in  some  mair  than  ordin- 
ar'  way." 

"  Maggie,  you  are  a  part  of  my  own  soul.  I 
can  have  no  real  wife  but  you." 

"  I  hope  sae,  sir.     I  love  you  weel." 

"  Call  me,  Allan." 

She  looked  up,  blushing  like  a  flame.  Some 
instinct  beyond  her  control  moved  her.  She 
put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders  and  kissed 
him,  and  as  she  did  so,  she  said  thrice  over, 
"  Allan  !  Allan  !  Allan  !  " 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  137 

"  Maggie !  Sweetheart  !  Life  can  give  me 
no  happier  moment  than  this."  And  so,  for 
getting  every  thing  but  their  love,  and  their 
great  joy  in  each  other,  they  sat  hand  in  hand 
and  talked  the  hours  away.  Allan  had  so 
much  to  make  her  understand,  and  she  was 
anxious  in  all  things  to  do  as  he  desired.  "  If 
you  possibly  can,  my  love,"  he  said,  "  remain 
here.  Do  not  work  hard.  Read  all  the  books 
I  have  left  in  my  room.  Wait  patiently  for 
me.  Trust  in  me  with  all  your  soul.  If  I  live, 
I  will  surely  come  for  you  in  two  years." 

"And  the  time  willna  be  that  lang,  for  I'll 
aye  be  thinking  o'  you." 

"  Maggie,  when  the  Fife  girls  give  their 
promise,  what  do  they  bind  it  with  ?" 

"  They  break  a  sixpence  wi'  the  lad  they  love, 
and  they  each  keep  a  half  o'  it." 

He  took  a  sixpence  from  his  pocket,  and 
broke  it  silently  in  two.  He  had  prepared  it 
for  the  ceremony,  but  it  required  a  slight  effort, 
and  the  girl  stood  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his 
white,  handsome,  resolute  face,  as  he  accom 
plished  the  rite.  Then  he  lifted  one  half,  and 
said  : 

"  This  is  yours,  Maggie  Promoter.     With  this 


138  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

silver  token,  I  bind  you  mine,  until  death  parts 
us." 

"  And  this  is  yours,  Allan  Campbell.  Wi 
this  siller  token,  I  bind  you  mine,  until  death 
parts  us." 

Handfast  they  stood  with  the  broken  silver 
in  their  palms  ;  their  shining  eyes  reading  the 
sacred  promise  in  each  other's  face.  Allan's 
heart  was  too  full  for  words  ;  Maggie,  trembling 
with  joy,  was  yet  awed  by  the  solemn  signifi 
cance  of  the  promise.  Yet  she  was  the  first  to 
speak — 

"I'll  be  true  to  you,  Allan,  true  as  the  sun  to 
the  dawn,  true  as  the  moon  to  the  tide.  When 
e'er  you  come,  late  or  early,  you'll  find  me 
waiting." 

He  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  they  walked 
up  and  down  the  house  place  together ;  and  the 
rain  plashed  against  the  window,  and  the  sun 
glinted  in  after  it,  and  the  village  awakened  to 
its  daily  life  and  labor,  but  they  took  no  note 
of  the  world  outside  the  cottage,  until  a 
little  child  tapped  low  down  on  the  closed 
door. 

"  My  mammy  wants  some  milk,  Maggie  Pro 
moter,"  and  Maggie  filled  the  small  pitcher, 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  139 

and  then  smilingly  said,  "  We  hae  forgotten  our 
breakfast,  Allan.  What  will  you  hae  ?  " 

"  To-day  is  all  mine,  Maggie ;  let  us  have  oat 
cake  and  milk,  and  kisses."  And  he  followed 
her  from  cupboard  to  drawer,  and  stood  by  her 
while  she  spread  the  cloth,  and  ate  his  portion  by 
her  side,  and  thought  it  like  a  meal  in  Paradise. 

And  oh,  how  swiftly  went  those  few  hours 
stolen  from  two  years  of  waiting  and  longing ; 
full  of  the  eager  joy  of  the  moment,  touched 
with  the  sweet  melancholy  of  the  near  parting. 
They  forgot  that  the  wind  had  changed,  and 
that  David  would  be  earlier  home  for  it ;  forgot 
all  things  but  their  own  bliss  and  sorrow,  until 
"a  passing  neighbor  called  out — "  yonder  boat 
coming  wi*  all  her  sails  spread,  will  be  the 
'  Allan  Campbell,'  Maggie." 

Then  they  knew  that  their  real  parting  had 
come.  From  it,  Allan,  white  with  grief,  went  to 
the  pier,  and  Maggie  forced  back  her  tears,  and 
hung  on  the  kettle,  and  spread  the  table,  and 
made  all  things  ready  to  welcome  her  aunt. 
She  had  not  seen  her  for  many  years,  she  had 
not  any  pleasant  memories  of  her,  but  "  blood 
is  thicker  than  water,"  and  kinship,  to  the  Scotch 
heart,  has  claims  of  almost  sacred  obligation. 


140  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Allan,  thinking  of  Maggie's  comfort,  watched 
Aunt  Janet's  arrival  with  much  interest.  She 
was  a  tall,  thin  woman,  dressed  in  homespun 
linsey,  with  a  ruffled  linen  cap  upon  her  head, 
and  a  faded  tartan  plaid  about  her  shoulders. 
David's  offer  had  been  a  great  piece  of  good 
fortune  to  her,  but  she  had  no  intention  of 
letting  the  obligation  rest  on  her  side.  Her 
first  words  on  landing  were  a  complaint. 

"I  ne'er  was  on  such  an  upsetting  sea,  niece 
Maggie.  It's  vera  seldom  I  hae  the  grievous 
prostration  o'  the  sea  sickness,  but  the  boat 
was  ill  rigged  and  waur  managed,  and  if  I 
hadna  been  a  vera  Judith  in  fortitude,  I  wad 
hae  just  turned  round  about,  and  gane  my 
ways  hame  again." 

"The  'Allan  Campbell'  is  thought  to  be  a 
fine  boat,  aunt." 

"  Fife  fishers  dinna  ken  a'  things." 

"  They'll  ken  aboot  boats,  though." 

"  They  may.  I'm  no  sae  sure.  They  lose 
a  gude  many  every  year  that  comes  to  them." 

"  How  is  Aunt  Margery  ?  " 

"  Her  man  has  got  into  the  excise.  She  holds 
her  head  as  high  as  a  hen  drinking  water  aboot 
it.  I  never  could  abide  pride  o'  any  kind.  It's 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  141 

no  in  me  to  think  mair  o'  mysel'  than  other 
folks  think  o'  me." 

Allan  joined  the  family  party  in  the  evening, 
and  he  did  his  best  to  win  Janet  Caird's  favor, 
and  conciliate  her  numerous  prejudices.  But 
unfortunately  she  intercepted  a  glance  intended 
for  Maggie,  and  her  suspicions  were  at  once 
roused.  Young  people,  in  her  opinion,  were 
full  of  original  and  acquired  sins,  and  she  made 
up  her  mind  in  a  moment  that  David  had  sus 
pected  his  sister's  propriety,  and  was  anxious 
to  shelter  her  under  the  spotless  integrity  of 
Janet  Caird's  good  name. 

"  And  for  the  sake  o'  the  family  I  sail  watch 
her  well,"  she  decided  ;  "she  sail  na  lightly 
either  the  Cairds  or  the  Promoters  if  I  ken  my 
sel  '  " :  and  from  the  moment  of  that  resolve, 
Allan  was  ranged  in  her  mind,  "  among  the 
wolves  that  raven  round  the  fold." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  parting  to  strength 
en  her  suspicions.  Maggie  was  indeed  white 
and  silent,  but  Allan  went  almost  hurriedly 
away :  as  if  he  were  weary  of  the  circumstances 
surrounding  him.  David  thought  him  cool  and 
cross,  and  was  pained  by  the  mood  ;  but 
Maggie  knew  the  meaning  of  the  worried, 


142  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

slightly  haughty  manner;  for  in  one  quick 
glance,  he  had  made  her  understand  how  bitter 
it  was  to  leave  her  in  her  worse  than  loneli 
ness  ;  and  how  painful  in  his  present  temper 
was  the  vulgar  effusiveness  of  Janet  Caird's 
thanks  and  noisy  farewells. 

An  hour  upon  the  sea  cured  him.  "  David," 
he  said,  "  I  was  very  cross.  I  did  not  like  that 
woman  in  your  home.  She  spoils  my  memory 
of  it." 

"She  is  my  fayther's  sister,  sir." 

"  Forgive  me,  David.  Let  us  speak  of  other 
things.  You  have  found  comfortable  lodgings, 
I  hope?" 

"  Ay,  sir.  Willie  Buchan's  third  cousin 
married  a  Glasgow  baker,  who  has  a  gude  place 
in  theCandleriggs  Street.  That  is  close  by  the 
High  Street  and  vera  convenient  as  to  locality. 
The  charges  also  are  sma'.  I  hae  a  comfort 
able  room  and  my  bite  and  sup  for  ten  shillings 
weekly." 

This  introduced  a  subject  which  opened  up 
endlessly  to  David,  and  Allan  was  glad  to  let 
him  talk ;  for  thought  is  sweet  to  the  lover, 
thought  of  the  beloved  under  any  circumstan 
ces.  No  other  shadow  darkened  a  friendship 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  143 

that  had  been  so  evenly  cloudless,  and  David 
and  Allan  parted  full  of  mutual  good  will  and 
regard,  although  the  hopes  and  aims  of  each 
were  so  widely  different. 

Allan  went  directly  to  his  father's  office,  but 
John  Campbell  had  gone  to  a  board  meeting, 
and  so  he  took  the  next  boat  for  Meriton. 
Evidently  Archibald  had  not  been  warned  that 
day  by  any  peculiar  "  feeling  "  of  his  arrival. 
There  was  no  conveyance  of  any  kind  waiting 
for  him  ;  but  as  the  distance  was  only  two  very 
pleasant  miles,  Allan  did  not  much  regret  the 
prospect  of  having  to  walk  them. 

The  woods  adjoining  the  road  were  the 
Campbells'  property,  he  leaped  the  wall,  and 
took  the  footpath  through  them.  How  silent 
it  was  under  the  pines  !  the  more  so  because  of 
that  vague  stir  in  the  air  among  them.  What 
nameless  perfumes  !  emanations  from  the  resin 
ous  earth,  from  the  old  trunks,  from  the  foliage. 
What  delightful  mysteries  in  their  nooks  !  bird 
twitterings  intimate  and  charming  ;  chirpings 
of  the  mothers  to  their  newly  fledged  young  ; 
little  cries  of  joy,  and  counsel,  and  innocent 
surprises !  A  large,  cool,  calm  hand  was  laid 
upon  his  heart,  the  hand  of  nature ;  he  saun- 


144  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

tercd  slowly  in  the  aromatic  air,  he  dreamed 
impossible  dreams  of  bliss,  and  with  the  faith  of 
youth  believed  in  them.  Good  !  When  we 
have  weaned  youth  from  dreams,  from  poetry, 
from  enthusiasms,  and  made  it  thoroughly  sen 
sible,  and  material,  what  kind  of  race  will  re 
main  to  the  world  ? 

And  alas !  All  happy  dreams  are  short 
enough.  Allan's  was  dissipated  by  a  sound  of 
suppressed  weeping.  He  looked  cautiously 
around,  and  on  the  clean,  brown  ground 
beneath  the  pines,  a  little  in  advance  of  him,  he 
saw  a  woman  sitting.  Her  back  was  against 
the  trunk  of  a  large  tree,  her  face  was  turned 
quite  away  from  him,  but  he  knew  it  was  Mary 
Campbell.  And  softly  and  hurriedly  he 
retraced  his  own  steps  for  some  distance,  and 
then  he  found  the  wall,  and  leaped  into  the 
highway,  and  walked  home  by  it  ;  thoroughly 
awake  and  disenchanted. 

He  did  not  meet  Mary  until  the  dinner  hour. 
She  was  then  elegantly  dressed,  her  face  clear 
and  bright,  her  manner,  as  it  always  was,  gentle 
and  yet  cheerful. 

"The  sphinx,"  thought  Allan,  "is  some 
inscrutable  woman  on  our  own  hearth-stone." 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  145 

He  remembered  the  low  sobbing  he  had  heard 
in  the  wood,  the  bowed  head,  the  unmistaka 
ble  attitude  of  grief,  and  then  he  looked  at 
Mary's  face  dimpling  with  smiles,  and  at  her 
pretty  figure,  brave  in  glistening  silk  and  gold 
ornaments.  And  somehow,  that  night,  she 
made  him  feel  that  she  was  the  head  of  the 
House  of  Campbell,  and  the  heiress  of  Drum- 
loch. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath.  She  was 
very  particular  about  her  religious  duties;  she 
went  to  kirk  twice,  she  had  the  servants  in  the 
evening  for  catechism  and  parallel  passages. 
She  gave  Allan  no  opportunity  of  seeing  her 
alone.  On  Monday  morning,  although  it  rained, 
she  insisted  on  going  to  Glasgow ;  and  she 
stayed  in  Glasgow  until  the  following  Wednes 
day  evening.  It  was  perhaps  the  first  sensation 
of  "  snub"  that  Allan  had  ever  received  ;  and  it 
annoyed  him  very  much. 

But  on  Wednesday  night  she  seemed  to 
relent,  and  she  did  all  in  her  power  to  make 
their  last  dinner  together  one  pleasant  to 
remember.  When  she  left  her  uncle  and  cous 
in  to  finish  their  wine,  she  left  them  well  dis 
posed  to  kindly  confidence.  For  since  Allan's 


146  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

return  from  Fife  he  had  not  felt  confidence 
possible.  His  father  had  asked  no  questions, 
and  shown  no  disposition  to  discuss  his  plans. 
But  at  this  hour  he  voluntarily  renewed  the 
subject. 

"  You  went  to  Fife,  I  suppose,  Allan  ?  " 
"  Yes,  sir.     I  was  there  two  days." 
"And  are  you  still  in  the  same  mind  ?  " 
"  Nothing  can  change  my  mind  on  that  sub 
ject,  sir." 

"  Time  has  worked  greater  wonders,  Allan. 
However,  I  will  venture  no  opinion  for  two 
years.  When  do  you  go  Westward  ?  " 

"  I  shall  leave  for  Liverpool  by  to-morrow 
night's  train.  I  shall  sail  on  Saturday." 

"  Call  at  the  office  early,  or  go  to  town  with 
me.  All  is  ready  for  you.  Write  as  often  as 
you  can,  Allan,  I  shall  weary  for  your  letters." 
His  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  he  lifted  his  wine 
glass  to  conceal  them. 

"  Father,  is  there  any  special  reason  why  I 
should  go  so  far  away  from  you  ?  Can  I  not 
wait  two  years  at  home  ?  " 

"  In  justice  to  my  own  side  of  the  bargain, 
Allan,  you  must  travel  and  compare  other 
women  with  this  Fife  girl.  You  must  not  only 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  147 

be  where  you  can  not  see  her,  but  also,  where 
you  can  see  many  others.  I  think  American 
women  will  be  a  fair  test  of  your  affection. 
Between  Boston  and  New  Orleans  their  variety 
is  infinite.  Gillbride  says,  they  are  the  blood, 
and  beauty,  and  intellect  of  all  races  potently 
mingled.  Mary  has  aright  to  be  considered  ;  she 
is  evidently  embarrassed  by  your  presence  ;  the 
least  you  can  do  for  her  now,  is  to  relieve  her 
from  it.  Next  spring  there  will  be  an  oppor 
tunity  to  re-consider  matters,  if  you  desire. 
Money  has  accumulated  belonging  to  Drum- 
loch,  and  Mary  has  decided  to  expend  it  on  the 
house.  A  new  wing  is  to  be  built,  and  she  will 
go  to  reside  there.  The  work  will  get  on  bet 
ter,  and  the  tenants  look  with  justice  to  the 
advantages  of  an  open  house  again.  But 
there  is  no  more  to  be  said  at  this  time.  Come, 
Allan,  let  us  go  to  the  drawing-room,  I  hear 
Mary  playing  a  song  I  never  can  resist,  no  nor 
any  other  person,  I  think — "and  he  began  to 
hum  "  O  Love  will  venture  in" 

"  Isn't  it  a  wonderful  combination  of  thirds 
and  sevenths?  There  is  nothing  like  it  in  the 
whole  portfolio  of  music.  Nothing  so  winning, 
nothing  that  can  so  charm  and  haunt  your  ear- 


148 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 


chambers."  And  they  stepped  softly  and 
slowly,  and  stood  at  the  door  together,  to  lis 
ten  to  the  enchaining  plaintive  little  song ; 

A 


O         love     will  ven  -  ture      in      where     it 


r3ta=P=P=f=ftS.3 
L—lfcb-JLj 


<5aur-na_vveelbe    seen,     O     love  will  venture  in  where 


wis-dom  ance  has    been  ;      But       I     will  down    the 


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ii*: 


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3 • 1*3 

r  ~r 

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THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE. 


149 


riv  -  er    rove,     a  -  mang  the  woods  so      green,  And 


•*-  •& 

U      1 


£    T? 


— y 


a*       to    pu*    a    pos  -  ie      to    my      ain  dear  May. 


f: 


^— ^^^==g=^^=jZLl==q==D= 

— f»—     rr«— *— ih- 


rr* —  — azn 

— — 0 -g — ; — P 

:i^z=z=:qz_ztsz: 
1— f- 4— 


"  The  primrose  I  will  pu',  the  firstling  o'  the  year, 
And  I  will  pu'  the  pink,  the  emblem  o'  my  dear  : 
For  she's  the  pink  o'  womankind  and  blooms  without  a  peer 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 


150  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

I'll  pu'  the  budding  rose  when  Phoebus  peeps  in  view, 
For  it's  like  a  baumy  kiss  o'  her  sweet  lonnie  mou': 
The  hyacinth's  for  constancy,  wi'  its  unchanging  blue  : 
And  a*  to  be  a  posie  for  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  lily  it  is  pure  and  the  lily  it  is  fair, 
And  in  her  lovely  bosom  I'll  place  the  lily  there  ; 
The  daisy's  for  simplicity  of  unaffected  air  ; 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  woodbine  I  will  pu'  when  the  e'ening  star  is  near 
And  the  diamond  draps  o'  dew  shall  be  her  e'en  sae  clear  ; 
The  violet's  for  modesty,  which  weel  she  fa's  to  wear  : 
And  a1  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

I'll  tie  the  posie  round  wi'  the  silken  band  of  love, 
And  I'll  place  it  in  her  breast,  and  I'll  swear  by  a'  above, 
That  to  the  latest  breath  o'  life  the  band  shall  ne'er  remove  : 
And  this  will  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May." 

The  last  long  drawn  notes  of  melancholy 
sweetness  were  scarcely  still,  when  a  servant 
entered.  "The  minister  is  here,  sir." 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Campbell  hastily. 
"There  is  an  extra  kirk  session  to-night.  It  is 
about  the  organ,  Mary.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not.  Every  one  will  have 
his  testimony  to  raise  against  it,  and  I  should 
get  cross." 

"  Then  good  night,  bairnies.  I  must  not 
keep  the  minister  waiting.  Maybe  I'll  be 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  151 

beyond  your  time.  Don't  lose  your  beauty 
sleep  for  me." 

He  left  the  room  in  a  hurry,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  "bairnies"  heard  the  crunch  of  the 
retreating  wheels  upon  the  gravel.  Mary  con 
tinued  at  the  piano,  lightly  running  over  with 
one  hand  the  music  she  happened  to  turn. 
Allan  stood  on  the  hearth  watching  her.  Both 
were  intensely  and  uncomfortably  conscious 
of  their  position.  At  length  Allan  said,  "  Mary, 
suppose  you  cease  playing,  and  talk  with  me  !  " 

"  Very  well."  She  rose  slowly  and  turned 
with  affected  reluctance.  Affected,  because 
she  really  wished  for  some  satisfactory  conver 
sation  with  him.  The  recollection  of  their 
last  confidence  was  painful  and  humiliating. 
She  could  hardly  bear  the  idea  of  carrying  its 
memory  throughout  two  years.  Few  as  the 
steps  were  between  herself  and  Allan,  she 
determined,  as  she  took  them,  to  speak  with 
all  the  candor  which  her  position  gave  her  the 
right  to  use  ;  and  at  any  rate,  not  to  end  their 
interview  again  in  debt  to  self-esteem.  The 
strength  of  the  Scotch  mind  is  in  its  interroga 
tive  quality,  and  instinctively  Mary  fell  behind 
the  cover  of  a  question. 


152  A  DA  UGH  TER  OF  FIFE . 

"  Why  should  we  talk,  Allan?  Is  there  any 
thing  you  can  say  that  will  unsay  the  words 
you  have  spoken  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  fair  with  me,  Mary.  You 
took  me  up  before  I  had  finished  my  explana 
tion." 

"  Oh,  I  think  there  was  enough  said." 

"You  made  words  hard  to  me,  Mary.  You 
forgot  that  we  had  been  brought  up  together 
on  terms  of  perfect  confidence.  I  always  held 
you  as  my  sister.  I  told  you  all  my  boyish 
secrets,  all  the  troubles  and  triumphs  of  my 
college  life,  all  my  youthful  entanglements. 
I  had  few,  very  few,  secrets  from  you.  I  think 
we  both  understood  by  implication — rather 
than  by  explanation — that  it  was  our  father's 
intention  to  unite  the  two  branches  of  the 
Drumloch  family,  and  so  also  unite  their  wealth 
by  our  marriage." 

"  I  never  understood  there  was  any  such 
intention.  No  one  ever  spoke  to  me  of  it. 
But  if  the  plan  had  been  possible,  it  was  a 
wise  plan ;  any  sensible  parents  would  have 
conceived  it,  and  hoped  and  worked  for  its 
accomplishment." 

"When   I  left   home  last  spring — if  I  had 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  153 

thought  you  cared  for  me — one  word  would 
have  detained  me." 

"  Was  it  my  place  to  say  that  word  ?  And, 
Allan,  you  would  not  have  been  moved  by  any 
word  at  that  time.  You  thought  only  of  assert 
ing  yourself,  your  rights,  your  inclinations.  The 
crown  of  England  would  not  have  fitted  you,  un 
less  it  had  been  your  gracious  will  to  select  it." 

"  A  man  must  have  some  individuality — ' 

"  At  twenty-four  years  old  how  much  has  he  ? 
He  is  a  mass  of  undigested  learning  and  crude 
opinions.  What  he  will  be  at  thirty-four 
depends  upon  a  thousand  circumstances  which 
he  cannot  even  apprehend.  Wishes  and  advices 
from  a  father  are  not  commands.  You  showed 
a  petulant,  foolish  temper,  quite  unworthy  of 
you,  in  turning  your  back  on  Uncle  John,  and 
saying  in  effect,  '  I  don't  intend  to  take  your 
advice,  I  intend  to  take  my  own  way,  even 
though  it  lead  me  to  a  Fife  fishing  village — 
and  a  degrading  love  affair." 

She  said  the  words  calmly,  looking  steadily, 
not  at  Allan,  but  into  the  depths  of  the  Argand 
lamp.  There  was  no  nervous  movement  of  her 
hands  ;  her  interlaced  fingers  lay  motionless  on 
the  table  before  her. 


154  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Allan  answered  promptly,  "I  have  no 
degrading  love  affair  in  any  Fife  village.  If  I 
had,  do  you  think  I  should  have  entered  your 
presence  at  all  ?  The  woman  I  love  is  as  sacred 
in  my  eyes  as  you  are.  I  intend  to  make  her 
my  wife.  I  should  have  told  you  all  about  her 
the  morning  that  you  took  for  granted  my 
offer  in  order  to  peremptorily  refuse  me — if 
you  had  allowed  me  " — 

"  Oh,  Allan  !  don't  say  that !  We  are  getting 
deeper  and  deeper  into  mistakes.  I  certainly 
thought  you  wanted  me  to  refuse  you.  I  tried 
to  make  the  necessity  as  easy  as  possible  for 
you.  But  imagine  how  I  felt  when  I  came  to 
consider  things  !  I  was  asked  to  do  this  humil 
iating  piece  of  deception,  in  order  that  I  might 
clear  your  way  to  some  fisher-girl.  It  was  too 
bad,  Allan!" 

"  I  do  seem  to  have  treated  you  badly, 
Mary,  because  you  gave  me  no  opportunity  to 
tell  you  every  thing,  and  to  ask  as  a  great 
sisterly  kindness  what  you  gave  under  a  sense 
of  indignation  and  wrong.  I  feel  that  it  is 
now  useless  to  explain ;  but  how  did  you 
know  that  I  was  in  love  with  a  fisher-girl  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  the  pictures  you  painted  while 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  155 

you  were  away.  They  revealed  the  story  to 
me — as  much  of  it  as  I  care  to  know." 

"  There  is  now  no  secrecy  in  the  matter.  I 
have  told  my  father  all,  and  he  has  asked  me 
to  go  to  America  for  two  years.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  he  will  accept  my  marriage." 

"  Poor  Uncle  John !  I  wonder  how  people  can 
toil  and  deny  themselves  forungrown  children! 
When  they  come  to  years  of  have-my-own-way, 
they  generally  trample  upon  all  their  love  and 
labor.  For  instance,  you  see  a  tall,  large,  hand 
some  woman  in  what  you  think  picturesque 
poverty,  you  want  her,  just  as  you  used  to  want 
the  fastest  boat  on  the  river,  or  the  fastest  horse 
in  the  field.  The  fact  that  you  ought  not  to 
have  her,  that  you  cannot  have  her,  except  by 
trampling  on  all  your  father's  dearest  hopes, 
does  not,  in  the  least,  control  you.  You  can 
conceive  of  nothing  better  than  the  gratifica 
tion  of  your  own  wishes.  If  all  the  men  were 
like  you,  and  all  the  women  were  in  my  mind, 
there  would  be  no  more  marrying  in  the  world, 
Allan  Campbell !  " 

"  Mary,  if  you  should  ever  be  really  in  love, 
you  will  then  excuse  me ;  at  present  I  can 
make  no  apology  which  you  will  understand  or 


156  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

accept.  Forgive  me  upon  credit.  I  am  going 
away  for  a  long  time  ;  and  I  cannot  go  happily 
if  we  are  at  variance."  He  sat  down  by  her 
side,  and  she  let  him  take  her  hand,  and  plead 
the  memory  of  all  their  past  affection  for,  and 
reliance  on  each  other.  "  Be  my  friend,  my 
sister  still,  Mary ;  though  you  will  not  answer 
me,  I  will  trust  to  you.  Let  us  part  kindly  now, 
we  can  gain  nothing  by  further  discussion,  at 
this  time."  He  lifted  her  face  and  kissed  it ; 
and  the  next  moment  she  heard  the  door  close 
behind  his  footsteps,  and  realized  that  the 
opportunity  of  which  she  had  made  such  an 
unhappy  use  was  gone. 

There  is  little  need  to  say  that  she  was 
miserable.  All  of  us  have  been  guilty  of  like 
perversities.  We  have  said  unkind  things 
when  our  hearts  were  aching  with  suppressed 
affection ;  we  have  been  so  eager  to  defend 
ourselves,  to  stand  fairly  in  some  dear  one's 
sight,  that  we  have  hasted  in  the  wrong  direc 
tion,  and  never  blundered  into  the  right  one 
until  it  was  too  late.  Poor  Mary !  She  had 
stung  herself  all  over.  She  could  think  of 
nothing  that  she  had  said  that  she  did  not 
wish  unsaid ;  and  of  many  things  of  sisterly 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  157 

care,  and  even  friendly  courtesy,  that  she 
had  entirely  forgotten.  Mortification  dismissed 
all  other  feelings,  and  she  set  her  reflections  to 
its  key.  "  How  glad  he  must  be  to  have 
escaped  a  wife  so  sharp-tongued  and  domineer 
ing  !  No  doubt  that  Fife  girl  would  have  been 
all  submission  and  adoration!  When  a  man 
falls  in  love  with  a  girl  so  much  beneath  him, 
it  is  a  piece  of  shameless  vanity.  It  is  the 
savage  in  the  man.  He  wants  her  to  say  '  my 
lord  '  to  him,  and  to  show  him  reverence !  I 
could  not  do  that  kind  of  thing,  no,  not  even 
if  he  filled  the  highest  pulpit  in  the  land,  and 
preached  to  the  queen  herself  every  Sunday." 
When  John  Campbell  returned,  he  found 
Mary  still  in  the  parlor.  She  was  playing 
some  noisy,  mechanical  "  variation,"  whose 
rapid  execution  was  a  physical  vent  for  her 
chagrin  and  disappointment.  She  rose  with 
alacrity,  rang  for  hot  water,  brewed  his  toddy, 
and  affected  the  greatest  interest  in  the  kirk 
meeting.  Indeed  she  was  interested  in  it  ;  for 
the  gathering  had  been  to  consider  whether 
John  Campbell's  offer  of  an  organ,  and  her  own 
offer  of  her  services  as  organist,  could  be 
accepted  by  the  church. 


158  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  It  was  hopeless  from  the  first,"  said  Camp 
bell  with  a  queer  smile  ;  "  every  shepherd  in 
Bute  was  there  to  protest.  You  would  have 
thought  I  had  proposed  a  Popish  Mass  Book, 
or  at  least  an  Episcopal  Litany.  There  will 
be  no  '  music  boxes '  in  Bute  kirks  this  gener 
ation,  Mary.  And,  would  you  believe  it,  the 
minister  was  dead  against  it  ?  " 

"  I  thought  he  favored  an  organ  in  the 
choir?  " 

"  I  was  always  uncertain  about  him.  I  never 
could  interest  him  in  the  subject.  He  would 
listen,  and  shake  his  head,  or  say,  '  just  so,  sir,' 
or  refer  to  a  session  in  which  all  could  say 
the  word  in  their  heart  ;  and  so  on.  To-night, 
after  an  opening  prayer,  in  which  he  took  the 
liberty  to  remind  the  Lord  of  all  the  spiritual 
dangers  connected  with  praising  Him  with 
instruments  of  our  own  handiwork,  he  stood 
up  and  said,  '  I'm  not  in  favor  of  any  music 
with  the  Psalms  of  David,  they  are  far  better 
without  it.  And  if  I  were  willing  for  the  organ 
box,  we  are  a  poor  kirk,  and  could  not  afford 
to  rob  our  stipendary  and  mission  funds  to  pay 
a  man  player  on  instruments;  and  as  for 
women  interfering  with  the  ordinances  in  any 


THE  BROKEN  SIXPENCE.  159 

way,  you  all  know  what  St.  Paul  says  on  that 
subject.'  And,  of  course,  when  the  minister 
talks  with  the  people's  prejudices,  he  is  omnip 
otent." 

"  Was  it  put  to  the  vote  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Two  of  the  congregation,  Burns  of 
Blantree,  and  myself,  stood  up  when  the  organ 
was  proposed  ;  the  rest  sat  grim  and  dour. 
Nothing  less  than  an  earthquake  could  have 
made  them  stir.  When  those  opposed  to  an 
organ  were  requested  to  rise,  they  stood  up 
solid  as  a  phalanx,  and  firm  as  a  stone  wall.  I 
wish  Allan  had  gone  with  me.  Where  is  the 
lad?" 

"  He  bade  me  '  good-by  '  some  time  since.  I 
dare  say  he  has  several  things  to  do  in  his 
rooms.  A  man  cannot  go  away  for  two  years 
and  leave  his  treasures  to  moths,  and  dust,  and 
unchecked  decay.  Uncle,  how  soon  can  we 
begin  to  build  at  Drumloch?  This  organ 
business  has  made  me  lose  sympathy  with  the 
Meriton  people  : — and  I  want  something  to  do, 
;  Uncle  John,  something  to  think  about,  and 
look  after." 

"  Then  I  will  have  the  plans  drawn,  and 
estimates  made,  and  you  shall  go  to  your  own 


160  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

home,  Mary,  as  soon  as  possible.  The  people 
are  looking  forward  to  your  return.  You  will 
be  happier  among  them.  We  can  return  to  Glas 
gow  at  once  ;  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so  ;  and 
you  can  go  to  Drumloch  in  the  spring." 

The  proposal  pleased  Mary.  She  wanted  to 
get  away  from  Meriton.  She  did  not  like 
being  in  the  same  house  with  those  numerous 
similitudes  of  the  Fife  girl.  The  garden  in 
which  Allan  had  made  her  that  pretence  of  an 
offer,  the  parlor  in  which  she  had  given  way  to 
such  a  petulant,  disagreeable  temper,  were  full 
of  mortifying  remembrances.  She  wanted  to 
turn  over  a  new  leaf  of  life,  to  cross  the  past  one, 
and  to  cancel  forever  the  hopes  there  credited. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS. 

"  Now  I  would  speak  the  last  Farewell,  but  cannot  ; 
It  would  be  still  Farewell  a  thousand  times  ; 
So  let  us  part  in  the  dumb  pomp  of  grief." 

********* 

Rumor  is  a  pipe 

Blown  by  surmises,  jealousies,  conjectures, 
And  if  so  easy  and  so  plain  a  stop 
The  still  discordant,  wavering  multitude 
Can  play  upon't." 

AT  that  time,  Mary  saw  no  more  of  her 
Cousin  Allan.  He  had  gone  when  she  rose 
next  morning,  gone  away  in  a  slow,  even-down 
pour  of  rain,  that  was  devoid  of  every  hope  of 
blue  sky  or  sunshine.  On  the  river  they  were 
in  a  cloud  of  fog  impenetrable  to  sight,  and 
inexpressibly  dreary.  Everything  also  in  the 
little  boat  was  clammy  and  uncomfortable. 
There  was  a  long  day  before  Allan ;  for  his 
business  scarcely  occupied  him  an  hour,  and 
then  he  went  out  into  the  black,  chill  street, 


1 62  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

and  felt  thoroughly  miserable.  His  father's 
face  had  been  so  white,  his  hands  had  trembled 
so,  he  had  made  such  a  brave  effort  to  say  a 
cheerful '  good-by.'  Allan's  conscience  troubled 
him ;  he  felt  supremely  selfish,  he  could  not 
satisfy  himself  that  he  had  any  right  to  put  so 
good  a  parent  to  so  much  sorrow. 

If  he  could  have  written  to  Maggie,  it  would 
have  been  some  consolation.  But  he  had  not 
been  able  to  make  any  arrangements  for  that 
solace.  A  post  office  did  not  exist  in  Pitten- 
loch  ;  if  a  letter  were  addressed  there,  it  lay  in 
Dysart  until  the  Dysart  postmistress  happened 
to  see  some  one  from  Pittenloch.  Under  such 
circumstances,  there  was  no  telling  into  whose 
hands  his  letters  might  fall.  And  a  letter  to 
Maggie  Promoter  from  strange  parts,  would  be 
a  circumstance  to  rouse  unbounded  curiosity. 
Either  curiosity  would  be  illegitimately  satis 
fied,  or  Maggie  would  be  the  object  of  endless 
suspicions. 

He  thought  of  David,  but  there  would  be 
little  comfort  in  seeing  David,  for  he  could  not 
talk  to  him  of  Maggie.  Allan  would  have 
liked  well  to  confide  in  David,  and  explain,  as 
he  thought  he  ought  to,  his  honorable  inten- 


SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS.       163 

tions  toward  his  sister  ;  but  Maggie  had 
earnestly  entreated  that  nothing  should  be  said 
to  her  brother.  "  He'll  be  aye  questioning  me. 
He'll  be  aye  watching  me.  He'll  maybe  tell 
folks,  and  I'll  feel  everybody's  eye  is  on  me. 
Forbye,  he  willna  be  as  happy  in  what  you  hae 
done  for  him.  He  thinks  now,  it  was  just  for 
your  admiration  o'  his  abilities,  and  your  liking 
for  his  sel',  that  you  sent  him  to  Glasga' 
College.  If  he  kent  you  thocht  o*  me,  he  wad 
be  sure  it  was  for  my  sake,  and  that  wad  jist 
tak'  the  good  out  o'  everything  for  Davie." 
Thus,  Maggie  had  reasoned,  and  Allan  thought 
her  reasoning  both  generous  and  prudent. 

So  there  would  be  little  comfort  in  threading 
the  dirty  ways  of  Argyle  Street  to  the  Can- 
dleriggs ;  and  he  went  to  his  hotel  and  ordered 
dinner,  then  back  to  his  father,  and  begged  him 
to  come  and  spend  the  last  hours  of  his  delay 
with  him.  And  John  Campbell  was  delighted. 
"  Things  will  go  tapsalteerie,  Allan,  but  let 
them  ;  we  will  have  a  bite  and  a  cup  of  kind 
ness  together."  It  was  a  very  pleasant  bite 
and  cup,  seasoned  with  much  love,  and  many 
cheerful  confidences  ;  and  when  Allan,  at 
length,  left  the  dreary  precincts  of  the  old 


1 64  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Caledonian  Station,  the  last  thing  he  saw  was 
his  father's  bare,  white  head,  and  that  courtly 
upward  movement  of  the  right  hand  which  was 
his  usual  greeting  or  adieu  ;  a  movement  which 
is  as  much  the  natural  salutation  of  a  gentleman, 
as  a  nod  is  the  natural  one  of  a  vulgar  mind. 

John  Campbell  remained  in  Glasgow  for  the 
next  three  days,  and  Mary  was  lonely  enough 
at  Meriton.  It  was  a  little  earlier  than  they 
usually  removed  to  their  city  home,  but  she 
began  to  make  preparations  for  that  event. 
In  the  course  of  these  preparations,  it  was  neces 
sary  to  inspect  the  condition  of  Allan's  apart 
ments.  How  desolate  and  forsaken  they  looked  ! 
No  other  rooms  in  the  house  had  the  same  sense 
of  loss,  even  though  they  had  been  in  the  same 
measure  dismantled.  The  empty  polished 
grates,  the  covered  furniture,  the  closed  blinds, 
the  absence  of  all  the  little  attributes  of  mas 
culine  life — pipes,  slippers,  newspapers,  etc. — 
were  painfully  apparent. 

But  no  one  had  touched  any  of  the  numer 
ous  pictures  of  Maggie.  They  were  on  the 
wall,  the  mantel,  the  table,  the  easel.  She 
glanced  at  them,  and  left  the  room  ;  but  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  she  returned,  drew  up 


SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS,       165 

the  blinds,  and  stood  resolutely  before  the 
large  one  upon  the  easel.  "  What  is  there  in 
her  face  that  is  so  charmful  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Why  did  it  draw  me  back  here  ?  Does  my 
sense  of  justice  forbid  me  to  dislike  without  a 
reason,  and  am  I  looking  for  one?"  She  went 
from  picture  to  picture.  She  stood  long  before 
some,  she  took  one  or  two  in  her  hand.  She 
did  not  like  the  girl,  but  she  would  not  be 
unfair  in  her  criticisms.  "Whatever  she  is 
doing,  she  is  like  a  poem.  I  could  not  bake 
oat  cakes,  and  look  as  if  I  had  stepped  out  of 
Gessner's  Idyls.  But  she  does.  What  limpid 
eyes  !  And  yet  they  have  a  look  of  sorrow  in 
them — as  if  they  had  been  washed  clear  in 
tears — she  is  not  laughing  anywhere.  I  like 
that !  If  she  were  gay  and  jocund  in  that  pic 
ture  how  vulgar  it  would  be. — If  her  splendid 
hair  were  unbound,  and  her  fine  throat  and 
neck  without  kerchief,  and  if  she  were  simper 
ing  with  a  finger  on  a  dimple  in  her  cheek,  I 
know  that  I  should  detest  her.  It  is  her  seren 
ity,  her  air  of  seriousness,  which  is  so 
enthralling — I  wonder  what  her  name  is — it 
should  be  something  grand,  and  sweet,  and 
solemn — I  should  think  Theodora  would  suit 


1 66  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

her — What  nonsense  !  In  a  Fife  fishing  village 
every  girl  is  either  Jennie  or  Maggie  or 
Christie."  So  she  mused,  going  from  picture 
to  picture,  until  they  acquired  a  kind  of  person 
ality  in  her  mind. 

Her  uncle  came  home  a  little  sad.  "  Allan 
has  gone  again,"  he  said.  "  I  seem  to  have 
seen  very  little  of  the  lad.  He  is  such  a  fine 
lad,  too.  We  had  a  few  happy  hours  together 
at  the  last.  I  am  very  glad  of  that !  When  he 
comes  home  next  time,  he  will  settle,  and  never 
leave  me  again.  I  shall  be  a  happy  man  when 
that  day  gets  around,  Mary." 

"  He  will  settle,  that  is,  he  will  marry  that 
fisher-girl !  He  has  told  you  all  about  her,  he 
says?  " 

"  He  was  very  honest  and  candid  with  me, 
very." 

"  What  is  her  name,  uncle  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  He  did  not  tell  me,  and  I 
never  thought  of  asking." 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?  " 

"  Really,  Mary,  I  never  asked  that  either.  I 
don't  think  it  makes  the  least  difference." 

"  Oh,  but  it  does.  I  am  very  much  disap 
pointed.  I  was  thinking  we  could  take  a  trip  to 


SE  VRRED  SEL  FES  AND  SHADO  WS.       1 6  7 

the  village,  and  see  the  girl  ourselves.  Would 
not  that  be  a  good  thing?  " 

"  It  would  be  a  very  bad  thing,  a  very  dis 
honorable  thing.  If  I  thought  it  necessary  to 
play  the  spy  on  my  son  Allan,  I  should  prefer 
to  know  he  was  dead.  The  girl  may  become 
my  daughter.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  meet 
her,  if  I  had  gone  to  peep  at  her  behind  her 
back.  She  would  not  despise  me  more  than  I 
should  despise  myself." 

"  I  do  not  look  at  it  in  that  light,  uncle. 
There  might  be  several  good  reasons." 

"  We  won't  discuss  them,  Mary.  Let  us  talk 
of  Drumloch.  Wilkie  is  drawing  the  plan  of 
the  new  wing.  When  will  you  go  back  to 
Glasgow  ?  I  was  at  Blytheswood  Square  to-day  ; 
the  house  is  in  beautiful  order." 

"  I  will  go  back  to-morrow.  I  am  weary  of 
Meriton  this  year.  I  have  found  myself  every 
where  at  a  discount.  Allan  refuses  my  estate 
and  myself.  The  minister  and  the  kirk  refuse 
my  services  as  organist.  And  when  I  had  a 
very  kind  idea  in  my  head  about  Theodora, 
you  make  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been  plotting 
treason  against  her,  and  against  honor  and 
everything  else  of  good  report.  Let  me  hide 


1 68  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

my  head  in  the   smoke   of    Glasgow   to-mor 
row." 

"  Theodora !     Is  that  the  girl's  name  ?  " 
"  That  is   the   fisher-girl's  name,  the  one    I 
have  given  her.     I  suppose  she  will  have  to 
descend  to  Jennie  or  Christie." 

"  Are  you  not  a  little  ill-tempered,  Mary  ?  " 
"  I  am  shamefully  ill-tempered,  uncle.  I  am 
afraid  I  am  growing  bad,  and  I  cannot  make  up 
my  mind  to  get  any  more  good  from  Dr.  Mac- 
Donald.  When  ministers  want  to  snub  women, 
they  always  quote  St.  Paul.  Now,  I  do  not 
believe  any  wrong  of  St.  Paul.  I  have  an  idea 
that  he  was  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  rather 
polite  to  our  sex. 

"  They  quote  his  own  words,  my  dear." 

"  They  quote,  as  they  have   transposed  and 

transformed  them.     I   think  if   a  woman  had 

translated  that  particular  passage,  it  might  have 

been  less  pleasant  for  Dr.  MacDonald  to  quote." 

"  Nevermind  Dr.  MacDonald  to-night,  dearie. 

Sing  us  a  few  words  of  Robert  Burns.     It  would 

be  an  ill  heart  that  could  not  get  cheery  in  his 

company.     I  bought  the  bonniest   likeness  of 

him  yesterday.  What  a  handsome  lad  he  was  !  " 

"  I  always  fancy  he  must  have  looked  like 


SE  VERED  SEL  VES  AND  SHADO  WS.        1  69 


Joseph.  The  Talmud  says  all  the  women  in 
Egypt  loved  Joseph.  I  am  sure  everybody, 
young  and  old,  make  their  hearts  over  to 
Robert  Burns. 


There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle,  But  whatnaday,  os 


^-j^qpJrsi-, ^-q 


whatna  style,  I  doubt    it's  hard  -  ly    worth  our  while  To 

-N 


be    sae    nice  wi'      Rob  -  in.      For    Rob-in  was    a 


170 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 


rov  -  in    boy,    A      ran  -  tin',  rov  -  in',  ran-tin',  rov-in', 


e" 


:^: 


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Rob-in    was     a       rov  -  in'  boy,  O      ran-tin',  rov-in' 


r 


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11 


Rob     -    in  ! 


»  .     »~~.«          |"r — 'p      ...L        ._    I  i  *"~jf — 11 


SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS.       171 


"  Our  monarch  s  hindmost  year  but  ane 
Was  five  and  twenty  days  began  ; 
'Twas  then  a  blast  o'  Januar'  win* 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin. 

For  Robin  was,  etc. 

The  gossip  keekit  in  his  loof, 
Quo'  she,  wha  lives  will  see  the  proof, 
This  waly  boy  will  be  nae  coof ; 
I  think  we'll  ca'  him  Robin. 

For  Robin  was,  etc. 

He'll  hae  misfortunes  great  and  sma', 
But  aye  a  heart  aboon  them  a', 
He'll  be  a  credit  till  us  a' 
We'll  a'  be  proud  o"  Robin." 

For  Robin  was,  etc. 

Half  an  hour's  song  put  both  in  cheerful 
temper,  and  when  Mary  said,  "  Now,  uncle,  we 
must  stop,  because  I  want  to  take  the  first  boat 
to-morrow,"  the  dear  old  man  went  gayly  off, 
singing  :— 


Then  up     in  the  morn-ing's    no'      for  me, 


^W-£=E 


172 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 


Up  in  the  morn  -  ing    ear      -     ly  ;     I'd    rath -er  gang 

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SE  FERED  SEL  VES  AND  SHADO  WS.       I  ^ 3 

"  Up  in  the  morning's  no'  for  me, 
Up  in  the  morning  early, 
I'd  rather  gang  supperless  to  my  bed, 
Than  rise  in  the  morning  early," 

and  he  was  as  proud  and  pleased  with  the  apro 
pos  quotation,  as  if  he  had  written  it  himself. 

John  Campbell's  city  house  was  one  of  the 
handsomest  of  the  many  handsome  mansions 
in  Blytheswood  Square  ;  and  there  the  princi 
pal  treasures  of  his  home  life  were  gathered : 
silver,  paintings,  furniture,  books,  as  well  as 
the  mementoes  which  had  come  to  him  from 
past  generations.  He  had  expected  Allan  to 
spend  the  winter  at  home,  and  made  many 
extensive  changes  in  view  of  the  company 
which  the  young  people  would  probably  desire. 
When  Mary  entered  the  house,  she  turned  a 
face  of  astonishment  and  delight  upon  her 
uncle.  Everywhere  the  utmost  richness  and 
luxury  of  appointment  were  manifest,  and  over 
her  piano  hung  the  painting  of  the  beaming 
Robert  Burns,  for  which  Campbell  had  just 
paid  ^5°°-  He  had  intended  to  surprise  his 
niece,  and  he  had  his  full  measure  of  thanks 
in  her  unaffected  pleasure.  It  was  a  happy 
home-coming,  and  as  they  sat  together  that 


174  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

night,  Mary  tried  to  inspire  the  father's  heart 
with  her  own  hopes  in  regard  to  Allan's  future. 

"  He  will  come  back  in  a  year,  uncle,"  she 
said,  "  and  he  will  bring  with  him  one  of  those 
bright-looking  New  York  women,  brains  to  the 
finger  tips,  nerves  all  over,  with  the  most 
miraculously  small  feet,  and  costumes  just  as 
wonderful.  Or  it  will  be  some  large-eyed, 
slow-moving,  long,  lithe  Southern  girl  who  will 
look  like  a  great  white  lily  turned  into  a 
woman.  I  do  not  think  seriously  that  Theodora 
has  the  slenderest  chance  of  becoming  Allan's 
wife,  and,  would  you  believe  it,  uncle,  I  am 
honestly  sorry  for  her  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it,  dear,  if  you  say 'so  ;  but  I  would 
not  have  expected  it." 

"I  cannot  help  thinking  about  her.  I  wish 
I  could.  I  have  wondered  a  dozen  times  to-day 
if  she  knows  that  she  is  shut  up  alone  in  that 
nearly  empty  house.  Howthe  storm  will  beat 
upon  Allan's  windows  all  the  winter !  How 
the  wind  will  howl  around  the  big,  desolate 
place  !  And  think  of  the  real  Theodora  waiting 
among  all  kinds  of  rude  surroundings  on  that 
bleak  Fife  coast.  There  must  have  been  a 
mistake  with  that  girl,  uncle.  She  was  meant 


SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS.       175 

for  lofty  rooms  and  splendid  clothing,  and  to 
be  waited  upon  hand  and  foot.  Don't  you 
think  souls  must  often  wonder  at  the  habita 
tions  they  find  themselves  in  ?  " 

"  There  is  One  above  who  orders  all  things. 
He  makes  no  mistakes  of  that  kind,  dearie.  I 
dare  say  the  girl  is  very  happy.  She  will  be 
a  kind  of  heroine  among  her  own  class  of 
women,  and  they  will  envy  her  her  rich  hand 
some  lover.'' 

"  And  you  think  she  will  be  happy  under 
those  circumstances?  Not  unless  Fife  girls 
are  a  higher  creation  of  women.  If  they  envy 
her  they  will  hate  her  also  ;  and  I  doubt  if  she 
will  have  many  more  friends  among  the  fisher- 
lads.  They  will  look  upon  her  as  a  renegade 
to  her  order.  The  old  women  will  suspect  her, 
and  the  old  men  look  askance  at  her  with  dis 
approving  eyes.  The  girl  will  be  a  white  black 
bird  ;  the  properly  colored  birds  will  drive  her 
out  of  the  colony  or  pick  her  to  death.  It  is 
only  natural  they  should." 

"  But  they  are  a  very  religious  people  ;  and 
grace  is  beyond  nature. 

"I  do  not  deny  that,  uncle;  but  did  you 
ever  find  grace  with  a  mantle  large  enough  to 


1 76  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

cover  a  defenceless  woman  who  was  under  the 
ban  of  the  majority  ?  Now  did  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  you  are  after,  Mary.  You 
want  to  go  and  see  her.  This  talk  is  a  round 
about  way  to  enlist  my  sympathy." 

"  Suppose  I  do  want  to  go  and  see  her,  what 
then?" 

"  You  could  not  go.  The  thing  is  simply 
impossible  for  some  months  at  least.  We 
know  neither  her  name  nor  her  place  of 
residence.  I  should  have  to  write  to  Allan  on 
that  matter  ;  he  might  decline  to  tell  me  ;  if 
he  did  tell  me,  his  answer  will  come  with  the 
snow  and  the  winter  storms.  How  then  are 
you  going  to  reach  the  Fife  coast  ?  And  what 
kind  of  excuse  could  a  lady  make  for  visiting 
it  about  Christmas  ?  " 

"  Excuses  are  plenty  as  blackberries  in 
season.  I  wonder  you  did  not  '  speer  her 
name  and  hame  ; '  that  would  have  been  my 
first  question." 

"  If  I  am  buying  a  ship,  Mary,  I  look  at  her 
build  ;  I  want  to  know  if  she  is  sea-trusty  ;  her 
name  is  of  small  account.  Now,  if  I  were  you, 
I  would  not  trouble  myself  about  Allan's 
sweetheart.  I  dare  say  she  is  happy  enough." 


S£  VERED  SEL  VES  AND  SHADO  WS.       1 7 7 

"  I  am  quite  sure  she  is  wretched.  I  feel 
it.  And  I  have  an  idea  that  Allan  would 
expect  me,  feeling  so,  to  look  after  her." 

Mary  Campbell's  divination  was  a  correct 
one.  Maggie  was  even  thus  early  very  wretched. 
In  fact  her  misery  began  before  Allan  and 
David  were  quite  out  of  sight.  For  a  few 
minutes  Janet  Caird  let  her  stand  and  watch 
the  departing  boat ;  then  she  said  with  an  air 
of  business,  "  Weel,  weel,  Maggie,  they  are 
gane,  but  the  wark  o'  the  house  bides.  If  you 
are  ready  I'll  just  gae  through  it,  and  tak'  a 
look  at  the  things  put  under  my  hand  and 
charge." 

Maggie  turned  round  sharply.  "  There  is 
nae  charge  in  your  hand,  Aunt  Janet.  I  hae 
keepit  the  house  since  I  was  seventeen  years 
auld,  and  I'm  no  needing  help  frae  ony- 
body." 

"  Then  whatna  for  was  I  brought  here,  frae 
my  ain  bit  o'  heather  roof?  It  will  ill  set  you 
to  put  your  fayther's  auldest  sister  under  your 
thumb.  Folks  will  talk  ill  o'  you." 

"They  will  talk  as  they  like  to  talk,  and  it's 
mair  often  ill  than  gude.  But  the  house  is 
mine,  and  I'll  guide  it  yet.  You  are  vera  wel- 


178  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

come,  Aunt  Janet,  and  I'll  be  thankfu'  for  your 
company,  and  your  word  o'  advisement,  and  if 
you'll  bide  under  my  roof,  I'll  bide  under  the 
shelter  o'  your  gude  heart,  and  gude  word ;  for 
you  ken, alone  lassie  ought  to  hae  some  person 
weel  respectit  to  stand  by  her,  and  to  be  a  wit 
ness  that  she  lives  as  a  decent  lassie  ought  to 
live." 

"  I  didna  think  I  was  to  be  made  a  conven 
ience  o'.  I  lookit  to  do  my  day's  wark,  and 
sae  earn  my  day's  wage." 

"  Did  Davie  promise  you  siller  at  a'  ?  " 

"  I'll  no  say  he  did  ;  there  wasna  any  promise 
fully  made ;  but  I  thocht  o'  it." 

"  How  much  was  you  thinking  o'  ?  What 
sum  will  pay  you  to  stand  by  my  gude  name, 
and  say  for  me  the  right  word  when  you  hear 
the  wrang  one  ?  For  you  ken,  aunt,  I'll  ne'er 
deserve  the  wrang  one." 

"  Wad  five  shillings  weekly  be  o'er  much  ?  " 

"Ay,  it's  a  deal.  But  I'll  gie  it  to  you.  And 
you  can  knit  your  ain  stocking,  and  go  and 
come  as  it  likes  you  ;  and  I'll  mind  my  ain 
hame,  and  I'll  pay  you  the  siller  every  Satur 
day  night." 

"  I  dinna  like  the  talk  o'  siller  sae  near  the 


SE  VERED  SEL  VES  AND  SHADO IV S.       179 

Sawbath  day.     We'll    hae   the   settlement  on 
Saturday  at  noon." 

"  Vera  weel.  We  willna  differ  about  an 
hour  or  twa." 

"  I  didna  sleep  gude  last  night.  A  box  bed. 
isna  quite  the  thing  for  an  auld  woman  like 
me." 

Maggie  hesitated.  Her  own  little  room  was 
very  dear  to  her.  It  gave  her  a  measure  of 
privacy,  and  all  her  small  treasures  had  their 
place  in  it.  The  concealed,  or  box  bed,  in  the 
house  place  wall,  had  been  David's  sleeping 
place.  It  was  warm  and  thoroughly  comfort 
able  ;  it  was  the  usual,  and  favorite  bed  of  all 
people  of  Janet  Caird's  class.  Maggie  won 
dered  at  her  objection  ;  especially  as  her  own 
room  was  exposed  to  the  north  wind,  and  much 
colder  than  the  house  place.  She  based  her 
opposition  on  this  ground — 

"  You  can  hae  my  room  if  it  please  you  bet 
ter,  Aunt  Janet ;  but  it  is  a  gey  cold  one  in  the 
winter ;  and  there  isna  ony  way  to  make  it 
warmer." 

"Tuts,  lassie !  What  for  wad  I  want  your  bit 
room,  when  there  is  my  brither's  room  empty 
noo?" 


180  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  opened  the  door 
of  the  apartment  which  Allan  had  so  long 
occupied.  "  It's  a  nice  room,  this  is  ;  a  gude 
fire-place  and  an  open  bed,  and  you  can  pack 
awa  a'  those  books  and  pictur's — they  dinna 
look  like  vera  improving  ones — and  I'll  put  my 
kist  i'  that  corner,  and  just  mak'  mysel'  quite 
comfortable." 

"  But  you  canna  hae  this  room,  Aunt  Janet. 
Neither  I,  nor  you,  hae  the  right  to  put  oor 
foot  inside  it.  It  is  rented,  and  the  rent  paid 
doon  ;  and  the  books  and  pictures  canna 
be  meddled  wi' ;  there  mustna  be  a  finger  laid 
on  them." 

"  My  certie !  The  man  is  gane  far  awa' ;  o'er 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  itsel' — I'll  bear  the  blame 
o'  it.  He  took  quite  a  liking  to  me,  that  was 
easy  seen,  and  I'm  vera  sure,  he  willna  mind 
me  using  what  he  canna  use  himsel'." 

"He  put  the  room,  and  a'  in  it,  under  my 
care,  aunt.  The  books  are  worth  mair  siller 
than  you  ever  counted  ;  and  I  wouldna  let  ony- 
body — unless  it  was  the  minister  an  orra  time 
— stay  in  it." 

"  What's  the  matter  wi' the  lassie?  Maggie, 
you  are  no  to  be  bided !  I'll  hae  this  room  for 


SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS.        181 

mysel',  and  that's  the  end  o'  the  contro 
versy." 

She  had  sat  down  in  the  big  rush  chair,  by 
the  still  burning  turfs,  and  she  was  looking 
round  her  with  the  critical  eye  of  a  person  who 
is  calculating  the  capabilities  of  a  place.  Mag 
gie  left  her  sitting  there,  and  began  to  tidy  up 
the  house.  In  half  an  hour  Janet  re-appeared, 
and  went  to  her  kist — a  great  wooden  box 
painted  light  blue — and  began  to  undo  its  many 
cords  and  lock.  Then  Maggie  closed  the  door 
of  the  disputed  room,  turned  the  key,  and  put 
it  in  her  pocket. 

The  noise  instantly  arrested  the  old  woman. 
She  stood  up,  and  cried  out  in  a  passion, 
"  What's  that  you're  doing,  Maggie  Promoter  ?  " 

"  I'm  locking  Mr.  Campbell's  room.  I'll  no 
see  you  break  into  ony  one's  right,  be  they 
here,  or  far  awa'." 

"  You  hizzy  !  You  !  You'll  daur  to  call  me  a 
thief,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Dinna  fight  me  at  the  outset,  Aunt  Janet. 
If  I  am  wrang,  when  Davie  comes  hame  at  the 
New  Year,  I'll  gie  you  the  key.  But  I'll  no  do 
it,  till  he  says  sae,  no,  not  if  I  die  for  it!  Now 
then  ?  " 


1 82  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"Setting  yoursel'  up  in  a  bleezing  passion 
wi'  a  person  auld  enough  to  be  your  mither ! 
Think  shame  o'  yoursel',  Maggie  Promoter  !  " 

Maggie  was  certainly  in  a  passion.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears,  her  face  burning,  her  form 
erect  and  trembling  with  anger.  Yet  she  was 
bitterly  annoyed  at  her  own  weakness  ;  she 
felt  degraded  by  her  outburst  of  temper,  and 
was  just  going  to  say  some  words  of  apology, 
when  a  number  of  women  entered  the  cottage. 
There  was  Jenny  and  Maggie  Johnston,  and 
Kirsty  Buchan,  and  Janet  Thompson  and  Mysie 
Raith  ;  five  buxom  wives  in  linsey  and  tartan, 
all  talking  together  of  their  "  men  "  and  their 
families. 

Maggie's  instincts  revolted  against  any  pub 
lic  discussion  of  her  own  affairs,  and  Aunt  Janet 
was  not  disposed  to  tell  her  grievance  while 
Maggie  was  present.  So  both  women  put  it 
aside  to  welcome  their  visitors.  There  was  much 
hand-shaking,  and  loud  talking,  and  then  Janet 
Caird  said  with  a  bustling  authoritative  air, 
"  Put  on  the  kettle,  Maggie,  a  cupo'  tea  when 
kimmers  meet,  mak's  talk  better  ;  "  and  Maggie, 
dumbly  resentful  at  the  order,  obeyed  it. 

She  was  not  in  a  generous  mood,  and  she  was 


SEVERED  SELVES  AND  SHADOWS.        183 

calculating,  as  she  silently  set  the  table,  how 
much  of  her  seven  shillings  a  week  would  be 
left,  when  she  had  paid  Janet  Caird  five  out  of 
it,  and  entertained  all  her  kimmers.  When  the 
tea  was  brewed,  the  old  woman  went  to  her 
blue  kist,  and  brought  out  a  bottle  of  Glenlivet, 
just  to  tak'  off  the  wersh  taste  o'  the  tea ;  " 
and  Maggie,  perceiving  they  had  set  down  for 
a  morning's  gossip  and  reminiscence,  said,  "  I'll 
awa'  up  the  beach  a  wee,  friends.  I  hae  a  head 
ache,  and  I'll  see  if  the  wind  will  blow  it  awa'." 

No  one  opposed  the  proposition.  She  folded 
her  plaid  around  her  head  and  shoulders  and 
went  out.  Then  Janet  Caird  put  down  her  tea 
cup,  looked  mournfully  after  her,  sighed,  and 
shook  her  head.  Upon  which,  there  was  a  gen 
eral  sigh,  and  a  general  setting  down  of  tea 
cups,  and  a  short,  but  eloquent  silence. 

"  You'll  hae  your  ainadoo  wi'  that  self-willed 
lass,  I'm  feared,  Mistress  Caird." 

"  'Deed,  Mistress  Raith,  she's  had  o'er  much 
o*  her  ain  way,  and  she  is  neither  to  rule,  nor 
to  reason  wi'." 

"  Davie  Promoter  is  a  wise-like  lad  ;  he  did 
right  to  bring  you  here." 

"And  nane  too  soon." 


1 84  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

11  She's  sae  setten  up  wi'  the  fuss  Maister 
Campbell  made  wi'  baith  o'  them.  Naething 
gude  enough  for  Dave  and  Maggie  Promoter. 
The  best  o'  teachers  and  nae  less  than  Glasca 
College  itsel',  for  the  lad — " 

"  My  nephew  Davie  isna  quite  a  common  lad, 
Mistress  Buchan.  Dr.  Balmuto  gied  him  the 
books  he  needed.  Think  o'  that  noo." 

"  And  the  lass  is  a  handsome  lass.  Maister 
Campbell  thocht  that.  Angus  just  hated  the 
sight  o'  him,  for  he  said  he  came  between  him- 
sel'  and  Maggie." 

"She  wouldna  hae  the  impudence  to  even 
hersel'  wi'  Maister  Campbell,  a  man  connectit 
wi'  the  nobility,  and  just  rollin'  in  gowd  and 
siller,"  said  Aunt  Janet ;  drawing  on  her  imag 
ination  for  Mr.  Campbell's  distinctions. 

This  was  the  key-note  to  a  conversation 
about  Maggie  in  which  every  one  of  the  five 
women  present  gave  their  own  opinion,  and  the 
opinion  of  all  their  absent  cronies  about  the  girl's 
behavior.  And  though  Janet  Caird  knew  noth 
ing  of  Maggie,  and  could  say  nothing  definitely 
about  her,  she  yet  contrived  in  some  man 
ner  to  give  the  impression,  that  David  Promo 
ter  had  been  afraid  to  leave  his  sister  alone,  on 


SE  VERED  SEL  VES  AND  SHADO  WS.        1 85 

account  of  her  attachment  to  Mr.  Campbell ; 
and  that  she  had  been  specially  brought  from 
Dron  Point  to  keep  watch  over  the  honor  of 
the  Promoter  family. 

If  Maggie  had  been  a  popular  girl,  the  loy 
alty  of  the  Pittenloch  wives  to  "  their  ain  folk  " 
would  have  been  a  sufficient  protection  against 
any  stranger's  innuendoes ;  but  there  was  no 
girl  in  Pittenloch  less  popular.  Maggie  was 
unlike  other  girls  ;  that  was  a  sufficient  reason 
for  disfavor.  Society  loves  types,  and  resents 
the  individual  whom  it  cannot  classify ;  and 
this  feeling  is  so  common  and  natural  that  it  runs 
through  all  our  lives  and  influences  our  opin 
ion  of  things  inanimate  and  irresponsible  : — the 
book  of  such  inconvenient  size  or  shape  that  it 
will  not  fit  the  shelf  in  our  book-case,  how  many 
an  impatient  toss  it  gets  !  The  incongruous  gar 
ment  which  suits  no  other  garment  we  have,  and 
seems  out  of  place  on  every  occasion,  how  we 
hate  it  !  Although  it  may  be  of  the  finest 
material  and  excellently  well  made. 

So,  though  no  one  knew  anything  wrong  of 
Maggie,  and  no  one  dared  to  say  anything 
wrong,  how  provoking  was  the  girl !  She  did 
nothing  like  any  one  else,  and  fitted  into  no 


1 86  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

social  groove.  She  did  not  like  the  lads  to 
joke  with  her,  she  never  joined  the  young  las 
sies,  who  in  pleasant  weather  sat  upon  the 
beach,  mending  the  nets.  In  the  days  when 
Maggie  had  nets  to  mend,  she  mended  them 
at  home.  It  was  true  that  her  mother  was 
a  confirmed  invalid,  confined  entirely  to  her 
bed,  for  more  than  four  years  before  her  death; 
and  Maggie  had  been  everything  to  the  slowly 
dying  woman.  But  this  reason  for  Maggie's 
seclusion  was  forgotten  now,  only  the  facts 
remembered. 

The  very  women  who  wondered,  "what  kind 
of  a  girl  she  must  be  never  to  go  to  dances  and 
merrymakings;"  knew  that  she  had  watched 
night  and  day  by  her  sick  mother ;  knew 
that  the  whole  household  had  trusted  to 
Maggie  from  her  seventeenth  year  onward. 
Knew  that  it  was  Maggie  that  made  all  the 
meals,  and  kept  the  house  place  clean,  and  took 
care  of  the  men's  clothing,  and  helped  to  mend 
the  nets,  and  who  frequently  after  a  day  of 
unceasing  labor,  sat  through  the  stormy  nights 
with  the  nervous,  anxious  wife  and  mother,  and 
watched  for  her  the  rising  and  setting  of  the 
constellations,  and  the  changes  of  the  wind. 


SE  VERED  SEL  VES  AND  SHADO  WS.       187 

Before  her  mother  had  been  a  twelvemonth 
under  "  the  cold  blanket  o*  the  kirk  yard  grass," 
her  father  and  brothers  found  rest  among 
the  clear  cold  populous  graves  of  the  sea. 
Then  came  Allan  Campbell  into  her  life,  and 
his  influence  in  the  Promoter  household  had 
been  to  intensify  the  quiet  and  order,  which 
David  and  Maggie  both  distinctly  approved. 
The  habit  of  being  quiet  became  a  second  nature 
to  the  girl,  every  circumstance  of  the  last  years 
of  her  life  had  separated  her  more  and  more 
from  the  girls  of  her  class  and  age.  She  was 
not  to  blame,  but  what  then  ?  People  suffer 
from  circumstances,  as  well  as  from  actual 
faults. 

There  were  two  other  points  in  Maggie's 
character  undoubtedly  influencing  the  social 
feelings  which  finally  determined  the  girl's 
future — her  great  beauty,  and  her  quick  tem 
per.  There  were  women  in  the  village  who 
considered  her  rare  and  unmistakable  beauty 
a  kind  of  effrontery,  at  least  they  resented  it 
with  the  same  angry  disapproval.  A  girl  with 
no  "  man  "  to  stand  by  her,  ought  not  to  look 
so  provokingly  radiant ;  nor,  by  the  same  rule, 
ought  she  to  have  such  positive  likes  and  dis- 


1 88  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

likes,  or  a  tongue  always  so  ready  to  express 
them. 

That  very  morning  soon  after  leaving  her  aunt 
and  the  gossips  around  her,  she  met  upon  the 
beach  Mysie  Raith  and  Kitty  Cupar.  Kitty 
looked  queerly  at  her  and  laughed,  and  instead  of 
ignoring  the  petty  insult,  Maggie  stopped  the 
girls.  "  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Kitty 
Cupar?"  she  asked  indignantly. 

"  At  naething,"  promptly  replied  the  girl. 

"  What  a  born  fool  you  must  be  to  giggle  at 
naething.  Tak'  tent,  or  you'll  be  crying  for 
naething,  afore  night." 

Then  she  went  onward,  leaving  the  girls  full 
of  small  spite  and  annoyance.  She  was  not  far 
from  her  father's  ill-fated  boat.  It  always 
stood  to  Maggie  in  the  stead  of  his  grave. 
David  had  told  her  not  to  go  near  it,  but  she 
was  in  a  perverse  temper  "  and  ill-luck,  or  waur 
ill-luck,  I'm  going;"  she  said  to  herself.  It 
showed  many  signs  of  its  summer's  exposure  ; 
the  seams  were  open,  the  paint  peeling  off,  the 
name  nearly  effaced.  She  sat  down  on  the 
shingle  and  leaned  against  it. 

"  Oh  Lizzie !  Lizzie  !  "  she  whispered  to  the 
poor  forlorn  battered  thing.  "You  brought  sair 


SE  VERED  SEL  VES  AND  SHADO  WS.        1 89 

loss  and  sair  change  !  Four  hearts  that  loved  me 
weel,  you  flung  to  the  bottom  o' the  sea;  and 
there's  nane  to  care  for  me  as  they  did.  Davie 
is  bound  up  in  his  diction'ries,  and  thinks  little 
of  Maggie  noo  ;  and  he  is  gane  far  a\va'.  He'll 
ne'er  come  back  to  me,  I'm  feared;  he'll  ne'er 
come  back!  It  is  just  anither  wreck,  Lizzie,  for 
a'  you  left  is  ta'en  awa'  this  day." 

It  is  a  great  grief  to  miss  the  beloved  in  all 
the  home  ways,  but  oh,  how  that  grief  is  inten 
sified  when  people  not  beloved  step  into  their 
places  !  It  made  Maggie  bitterly  sorrowful  to 
see  Janet  Caird  in  her  father's  chair,  What  a 
mistake  she  had  made !  She  had  no  idea  she 
would  feel  so  resentfully  to  the  one  who  was 
in  her  house  because  "  they  were  not." 

"It  will  be  waur  yet  to  see  her  reading  his 
Bible,"  she  thought,  but  she  lifted  the  big  book 
and  laid  it  before  her  aunt  at  the  usual  hour 
for  the  evening  prayer.  "  Na,  na,  "  said  Janet, 
with  an  expression  of  self-approbation,  "  I 
dinna  approve  o'  women  reading  the  Word 
aloud.  It  is  nae  house  without  a  man  at  the 
head  o'  it,  and  we  canna  hae  exercises  without 
a  man  to  gie  us  the  sense  o'  them.  We  are 
twa  lane  women,  we  maun  be  contented  with 


J  90  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

the  whisper    o'  a   verse   or    tvva   to   our   ain 
hearts." 

And  Maggie  was  almost  glad.  She  thought 
of  her  father  reading  the  Book  with  his  four 
sons  around  him ;  and  she  thought  of  David's 
pale  solemn  face  bending  over  it,  as  they  two 
sat  together  to  listen  to  its  comfort  and  its 
counsel;  and  she  said,  "  I'll  put  the  Book  out 
o'  sight,  and  I'll  hae  it  opened  nae  mair,  till  I 
sit  wi'  Davie  in  his  ain  manse ;  and  then  we'll 
read  again  that  bonnie  verse  He  gied  us — 
Then  are  they  glad,  because  they  be  quiet ;  so  He 
bringeth  tlicni  unto  their  desired  haven.'1 


CHAPTER  X. 

MAGGIE'S  FLIGHT. 

"  She  has  profaned  the  sacred  name  of  Friend, 

And  worn  it  to  vileness." 
******* 

"  Ah,  wretched  and  too  solitary  he 

Who  loves  not  his  own  company  !  " 
******* 

"  Fortune  came  smiling  to  the  maid,  and  woo'd  her." 

LIFE  would  be  but  a  mean  abode  for  men 
and  women  if  they  could  not  open  the 
windows  of  their  souls  and  look  beyond  it. 
During  the  weeks  which  immediately  followed 
Janet  Caird's  association  with  Maggie  she  felt 
this  truth,  though  she  did  not  define  the  feel 
ing  to  herself.  She  only  realized  the  comfort 
of  withdrawing  from  the  fretful  presence  of  her 
aunt  to  the  contemplative,  passionless  serenity 
of  the  Word  of  God.  But  even  this  was  an 
offence.  "  What  are  you  doing  at  a',  Maggie  ?  " 
was  the  certain  inquiry  if  she  went  to  the  quiet 
of  her  own  room  for  an  hour. 

"  I'm  reading  the  Book  a  wee,  Aunt  Janet." 


1 92  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

The  comments  upon  this  reply  varied,  accord 
ing  to  Janet's  temper.  Sometimes  it  was, 
"Well,  the  gude  ken,  you  need  to  read  it." 
Again  it  would  be,  "Havers !  Hoo  can  the  like 
o'  you  understand  it,  and  no  man  body  to  gie 
you  the  sense  ?  "  And  if  the  volume  happened 
to  be  one  from  Allan's  small  library,  her  railing 
at  "  no-vels  and  the  sin  o'  them  "  was  unstinted. 

But  the  real  cause  of  difference  between  the 
women  was  far  beyond  Maggie's  knowledge  or 
power  to  alter.  It  had  sprung  up  the  very 
hour  that  David  asked  her  to  come  to  Pitten- 
loch  and  be  a  companion  to  his  sister.  No 
sooner  had  he  left  her  than  she  began  to  con 
sider  in  what  light  the  proposition  could  bring 
her  personally  the  most  respect  and  sympathy, 
and  a  neighbor  coming  in  at  the  moment,  she 
found  in  her  own  small  boast  the  key-note  of 
her  future  treatment  of  her  niece. 

"  I  hae  been  called  for,  Mistress  Futtrit,  a' 
the  road  to  Pittenloch,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh ; 
"  my  nephew  is  settled  for  the  ministry — an'  nae 
less — and  I  maun  just  gae  and  tak'  the  guiding 
o'  his  sister  and  his  hoose." 

"You're  auld  to  be  fashed  wi'  a  bairn  noo, 
Mistress  Caird." 


MA  GGIE'  S  FLIGHT.  193 

"  Na,  na,  it  isna  a  bairn  ;  Maggie  Promoter 
is  a  braw,  handsome  lass,  wi'  mair  lovers  than 
she  has  fingers  and  toes." 

"But  that's  waur  than  a  bairn.  You'll  be 
worn  oot  wi'  the  care  o'  it.  I  ken  by  the  heart 
aches  my  ain  Baubie  gied  me.  Early  and  late 
she  keepit  me  in  het  water." 

"  I  hear  tell  that  oor  Maggie  is  just  extraor- 
dinar'  handsome  and  extraordinar'  self-willed. 
I  ken  I'm  going  to  sorrow,  but  her  fayther  was 
my  brither,  and  I'll  hae  to  do  my  duty,  or  be  a 
meeserable  woman." 

"  It's  a  credit  to  you,  Mistress  Caird,  to  hae 
feelings  like  them,  and  you'll  be  supported  doot- 
less." 

Jean  Futtrit's  pretty  Baubie  had  not  always 
behaved  well ;  and  Jean  was  suspicious  of  all 
other  young  girls.  She  had  thought  the  worst 
of  Maggie  at  once,  and  she  made  Janet  Caird 
feel  herself  to  be  a  very  meritorious  domestic 
martyr  in  accepting  the  charge  of  her.  This 
idea  satisfied  Janet's  craving  for  praise  and 
sympathy  ;  she  fully  endorsed  it ;  she  began  to 
take  credit  for  her  prudence  and  propriety 
before  she  even  entered  upon  her  new  life. 

And    circumstances    in    Pittenloch   favored 


194  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Janet ;  in  a  few  days  she  had  received  so  much 
condolence,  and  had  committed  herself  so  com 
pletely  regarding  her  niece,  that  nothing  could 
have  induced  her  to  reconsider  her  conduct. 
Every  trifle  also  in  Maggie's  attitude  testified 
against  herself.  She  resented  the  constant  con 
claves  of  tea-drinking,  gossiping  women  in  her 
house,  and  she  was  too  honest-hearted  to  hide 
her  disapproval  from  them.  The  result  was,  that 
backed  by  Janet  Caird,  they  came  still  more  fre 
quently,  and  were  more  and  more  offensive.  If 
she  determined  to  make  the  best  of  the  matter, 
and  remained  with  them,  she  was  subjected  to 
advices,  and  innuendoes,  and  rude  jokes,  almost 
intolerable ;  and  if  she  went  away  she  was 
accused  of  bad  temper,  of  a  greedy,  grudging 
disposition,  and  of  contempt  for  her  own  peo 
ple  and  class. 

If  Maggie  had  been  wise  enough  to  attend 
faithfully  the  weekly  meeting  in  Elder  Mackel- 
vine's  cottage,  she  would  have  silenced  many 
of  her  enemies.  But  this  one  evening  Maggie 
looked  forward  to,  on  different  grounds  ;  Janet 
Caird  never  missed  the  meeting,  and  her  absence 
gave  Maggie  two  sweet  hours  alone  in  her 
home.  She  locked  her  door,  visited  Allan's 


MAGGIE'S  FLIGHT.  195 

room,  changed  her  book,  and  afterward  sat 
still,  and  let  the  time  slip  away  in  thoughts 
sacred  to  her  own  heart. 

As  the  end  of  the  year  approached  Dr.  Bal- 
muto  was  expected.  He  made  a  visit  to  Pitten- 
loch  every  three  months.  Then  he  consoled  the 
sick,  baptized  weakly  infants,  reproved  those 
who  had  been  negligent  in  attending  kirk,  and 
catechised  and  examined  the  young  people 
previous  to  their  admission  to  The  Tables. 
Maggie  had  not  been  very  faithful  about  the 
ordinances.  The  weather  had  been  bad,  the 
landward  road  was  dangerous  when  snow  had 
fallen,  and  she  did  not  like  going  in  the  boats 
among  so  many  who  gave  her  only  looks  of 
grave  disapproval.  So  she  had  made  many 
excuses,  and  in  this  matter  Janet  Caird  had  let 
her  take  her  own  way  without  opposition. 
Absence  from  kirk  was  a  proof  of  a  falling  away 
from  grace,  which  in  the  eyes  of  these  people 
was  beyond  explanation ;  provided  the  delin 
quent  was  not  unmistakably  sick. 

The  minister  had  noticed  Maggie's  frequent 
lapses  from  duty.  He  spoke  to  Elder  Mackel- 
vine  about  it ;  and  as  the  elder  was  in  a  manner 
responsible  for  the  flock  to  his  superior  shep- 


196  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

herd,  he  felt  obliged  to  repeat  much  of  the 
gossip  he  had  heard.  He  had  no  ill  will  to  the 
girl,  far  from  it ;  yet  unknowingly  he  did  her 
many  wrongs,  even  though  he  distinctly  said, 
"  he  knew  no  ill  of  Maggie  Promoter,  and  was 
but  repeating  what  a  lot  of  idle  women  said." 

But  Dr.  Balmuto  was  troubled  and  alarmed. 
He  thought  not  only  of  Maggie,  but  also  of 
David.  He  had  sanctioned  his  ambition  for 
the  ministry,  and  had  helped  him  toward  the 
office  ;  and  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  a 
whisper  against  a  name  likely  to  stand  in  the  list 
of  God's  servants.  He  was  angry  at  Maggie's 
imprudences,  even  if  they  were  no  worse  than 
imprudences.  He  paid  a  special  visit  to  the 
Promoter  cottage,  and  putting  aside  Mistress 
Caird  with  a  polite  wave  of  the  hand  which 
greatly  impressed  her,  he  demanded  to  see 
Maggie  alone. 

He  told  her  frankly  all  that  he  had  heard, 
and  the  girl  was  astounded.  There  was  just 
truth  enough  with  every  lie  to  carry  the  lie 
through.  Many  of  them  she  found  it  almost 
hopeless  to  try  to  explain ;  and  when  the 
doctor  asked  her,  "  if  there  had  been  any  words 
of  love  between  Mr.  Campbell  and  herself  ? " 


MA  GGIE'  S  FLIGHT.  1 9  ^ 

she  could  not  deny  it.  She  remained  speech 
less,  and  the  minister  thought  very  badly  of 
the  woman  dumb  and  blushing  before  him. 

"  Mind  what  I  tell  you,  Maggie  Promoter," 
he  said  sternly,  "  I  know  the  young  man 
Campbell.  He  is  none  of  your  kind.  He 
cannot  make  you  his  wife.  If  he  could,  you 
would  be  wretched,  for  he  would  soon  scorn 
you.  Can  the  eagle  mate  with  the  kitty  wake? 
Sin  and  sorrow  come  of  such  love  making.  It 
will  ruin  both  David  and  yourself.  Mind,  I 
have  warned  you.  If  you  were  my  own  daugh 
ter  I  would  say  no  less  to  you." 

"  There  has  been  nae  wrang  word  between 
us,  sir.  Nae  word  my  ain  fayther  and  mither 
mightna  hae  listened  to.  That  is  the  truth,  sir." 

"  Then  do  not  hold  yourself  apart  from  your 
own  people.  Don't  fret  about  the  young 
man's  absence,  and  neglect  the  o  rdinances  to 
do  it ;  remember  they  are  for  your  comfort 
and  salvation." 

"  Folks  hae  thocht  ill  o'  me,  sir ;  and  they 
treat  me  according  to  their  ill  thochts : — and  I 
wish  Davie  was  hame,  for  I'm  broken-hearted 
wi'  the  wrang  that  is  done  me  ;  morning,  noon 
and  night,"  she  said  warmly. 


198  A  DA  UGH  TER  OF  FIFE . 

"  Keep  your  temper  and  hold  your  tongue, 
Maggie.  I  suffer  no  woman  to  rail  in  my 
presence.  Do  well,  and  you  will  be  well 
spoken  of,  and  doubtless  also,  well  treated." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
sobbed  bitterly ;  and  his  heart  relented  a  little. 
"I  am  glad  to  see  the  tears,  Maggie;  no  one 
can  do  more  than  be  sorry  for  their  sins  and 
then  mend  them.  Come,  come,  lassie  ;  turn 
over  a  new  leaf,  and  the  future  shall  mend  the 
past." 

"  There  is  naething  to  mend,  sir.  I  hae 
done  no  wrang  to  man,  woman,  or  child.  You 
should  hae  stood  up  for  the  orphan  lass,  that 
has  nae  one  near  to  befriend  her ;  but  when  a' 
men  are  against  me — then  I'll  lippen  to  the 
Lord  !  " 

Her  short  passionate  rain  of  tears  was  over. 
She  stood  erect,  calm,  perhaps  with  an  air  of 
indifference.  The  doctor  was  much  annoyed  ; 
he  felt  that  he  had  failed  in  reaching  the  girl's 
heart,  and  he  went  away  with  that  sense  of 
irritation  which  our  inabilities  always  leave 
with  us. 

Maggie  did  not  go  out  of  the  cottage  for  a 
week.  She  was  expecting  David  home  for  the 


MA  GGIK  S  FLIGH  T.  199 

holidays,  and  she  confidently  looked  for  him  to 
right  her.  Unfortunately,  David  came  by 
Kinkell,  and  called  first  at  Dr.  Balmuto's.  He 
had  done  very  well  in  his  Greek  and  Hebrew, 
and  he  wished  to  show  the  minister  that  his 
kindness  had  been  appreciated  and  improved. 
Dr.  Balmuto  received  David  a  little  coldly. 
He  had  not  really  been  moved  to  help  him  by 
any  personal  liking,  but  rather  from  a  con 
scientious  conviction  that  the  young  man  had 
a  decided  vocation  for  theology.  In  fact,  there 
had  always  been  a  tinge  of  self-satisfaction  about 
David  which  he  seriously  disliked,  and  for  which 
very  reason  he  had  once  sent  him  back  to  the 
boats  to  learn  humility.  Though  honestly 
pleased  at  his  progress,  he  did  not  think  it  well  to 
praise  him  too  much;  especially  as  he  observed 
that  David  boasted  in  a  quiet  way  of  the  favor 
shown  him  by  his  teachers,  and  named,  when 
there  was  no  occasion  for  naming  it,  the  cir 
cumstance  of  having  been  twice  asked  to 
dinner  by  Prof.  Laird. 

"This  and  that  is  all  very  well,  and  I  am 
glad  of  it,  David,"  he  said ;  "  but  your  name 
must  be  kept  stainless ;  and  the  more,  learned 
you  are,  the  more  people  will  look  up  to  you, 


200  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

and  the  more  readily  the  fly  in  the  ointment 
will  be  seen  and  heard  tell  of.  I  am  sorry  to 
say  your  sister  has  been  very  imprudent. 
Pittenloch  does  nothing  but  talk  of  her  queer 
ways,  and  doubtless  there  have  been  love 
promises  between  her  and  Mr.  Campbell.  Now 
if  there  is  ill  said  about  him  and  your  sister, 
you  must  see  that  it  puts  you  in  a  bad  light  to 
take  any  favor  whatever  from  him." 

David  rose  angrily.  "  I  canna  let  even  you, 
sir,  speak  ill  in  that  way  about  Maggie.  I  was 
by  her  side  until  Mr.  Campbell  left  Pittenloch. 
And  I  will  defend  his  name  as  well  as  Maggie's. 
There  was  not  the  wrong  thocht  in  either  of 
their  hearts.  I  am  sure  o'  that." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  so  bravely 
and  confidently.  Go  home,  and  put  your  house 
in  better  order  than  it  is.  There  seems  to  be 
ill-will  and  unhappiness  in  it.  Make  your 
women  walk  circumspectly,  and  give  no  occa 
sion  for  people  to  take  your  name  up.  Your 
name  is  not  to  be  lightly  used  now,  David 
Promoter." 

David  had  looked  forward  to  this  visit,  antic 
ipated  the  minister's  praises  and  satisfaction, 
had  even  brought  him  a  little  present  of  some 


MAGGIE'S  FLIGHT.  20 1 

fine  tobacco.  He  left  the  manse  with  a  sense 
of  anger  and  humiliation,  and  with  the  tobacco 
in  his  pocket.  He  had  found  no  opportunity 
to  offer  it.  And  the  home-coming  from  which 
Maggie  had  expected  so  much  was  an  unhappy 
one.  David  blamed  her  for  Dr.  Balmuto's 
coldness  and  apparent  lack  of  interest  in  his 
affairs ;  and  whether  Maggie  had  done  wrong, 
or  had  only  been  wronged,  he  felt  that  she  had 
injured  him  and  his  prospects.  Nervous  and 
sensitive  to  a  foolish  degree  on  the  subject  of 
social  respect  from  those  in  authority,  he  gave  to 
the  affair  far  more  importance  than  it  deserved. 
He  made  Maggie  almost  feel  as  if  she  had 
brought  absolute  and  irretrievable  ruin  upon 
him. 

Still  he  would  not  be  unjust  to  her,  nor 
listen  to  any  accusation  not  made  before  her 
face.  Even  Aunt  Janet,  though  she  attacked 
David  on  his  weakest  side,  by  giving  him  all 
the  respect  due  to  a  placed  minister,  did  not 
succeed  in  gaining  his  private  ear.  "  I'll  give 
nae  occasion  for  backbiting,"  he  said,  "  tell  me 
when  Maggie  is  present,  what  you  have  to  say 
against  her." 

"  She  read  novels,  instead  of  working  at  her 


202  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

trade — she  held  herself  aloof  from  people,  and 
stayed  by  herself.  She  did  not  go  regularly  to 
kirk  and  meeting.  She  had  spent  good  money 
having  the  '  Allan  Campbell '  put  in  order,  yet 
she  would  neither  lend  nor  hire  the  boat  when 
it  was  asked  of  her.  She  kept  Mr.  Camp 
bell's  room  locked  up,  and  would  not  even  let 
a  friend  of  the  family  drink  a  cup  of  tea  inside 
it.  She  was  queer  and  cold  to  all  the  lads, 
and  had  been  specially  rude  to  Angus  Raith, 
whose  mother  was  Mistress  Caird's  chief  friend. 
Folks,  too,  wondered  where  she  got  money, 
and  Maggie  had  not  respected  their  curiosity, 
and  satisfied  them  that  she  was  living  honest." 
These  were  Aunt  Janet's  principal  accusa 
tions  against  her  niece.  Maggie  answered 
them  very  plainly.  She  declared  that  she  could 
not  get  work,  because  her  aunt's  complaints 
had  deprived  her  of  all  her  friends.  The  books 
she  read  were  the  same  books  Mr.  Campbell 
had  read  aloud  to  them  both.  As  for  the  boat, 
she  did  not  want  it  to  go  to  waste,  and  if  she 
loaned  it  to  one  person,  she  might  as  well  have 
given  it  to  the  village.  If  she  had  taken  hire, 
it  would  have  been  a  great  offence,  and  worse 
said  of  her,  than  for  keeping  it  at  anchor.  As 


MAGGIE'S  FLIGHT.  203 

it  was,  she  asserted  Aunt  Janet  had  lent  it  to 
the  Raiths  frequently,  without  her  knowledge 
or  consent  at  the  time. 

"  Not  mair  than  three  times,  Maggie,"  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  Caird,  "  and  you  were  that  ill-tem 
pered  I  couldna  ask  you  anent  it.  You  wad 
hae  snappit  my  head  aff." 

"  That  was  three  times  o'er  many,  aunt," 
answered  David  ;  "  the  boat  was  Maggie's ; 
folks  should  speer  it  of  hersel'  ;  I  would  hae 
nae  right  to  lend  it,  and  I  wouldna  do  it,  nae 
matter  wha  asked  it  o'  me." 

"  The  Raiths  are  gude  frien's  "- 

"  For  a'  the  Raiths  in    Fife  and  Moray,  no  !  " 

"  Then  Davie,  as  for  letting  Mr.  Campbell's 
room  be  for  the  use  of  a'  and  sundry  that 
liked  it,  how  could  I  ?  You  ken,  he  told  me 
tak'  care  o'  the  pictures  and  books  inside  it." 

"  You  wad  hae  as  much  right  to  his  purse  as 
his  room,  if  he  had  left  his  purse  in  your  keep 
ing.  The  room  wasna  yours  to  lend,  Maggie." 

"And,  Davie,  I  dinna  like  Angus  Raith,  and 
his  mither  is  here  the  day  lang,  and  till  the  late 
night  ;  and  Angus  is  aye  to  convoy  her  hame ; 
and  he  sits  in  your  chair,  and  glowers  at  me,  or 
he  says  words  I  canna  listen  till,  and  I  want 


204  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

nae  love  from  him  or  any  other  man.  If 
you  will  be  a  brither  to  me,  and  no  let  folks 
tread  my  gude  name  in  the  mire,  I'll  aye  be  a 
true  sister  to  you,  Davie,  and  I'll  care  for  nane 
but  you." 

"  I'll  let  nane  say  ill  o'  you,  if  you  dinna 
deserve  it,  Maggie.  Folks  should  think  shame 
o'  themselves  to  set  on  a  lass  without  man  or 
woman  to  stand  by  her." 

"  I'm  sure  I  aye  said  what  I  could  wi*  truth 
for  the  lassie." 

"  I  dinna  think  it.  And  as  for  Maggie's 
money,  that  is  Maggie's  business  and  my  busi 
ness.  Maggie's  money  is  clean  money,  every 
penny  o'  it.  There  is  my  word  for  that.  I  am 
sure  it  was  weel  kent  that  fayther  left  money 
lying  in  Largo  Bank ;  but  I'll  gie  accounts  to 
nane.;  and  I'll  not  hae  Maggie  asked  for  them 
either.  As  for  Angus  Raith,  he  might  hae 
taken  his  '  no  '  before  this.  I'll  not  blame  Mag 
gie  for  not  liking  him  ;  and  I  wad  be  as  weel 
pleased  for  Maggie  to  bide  single,  till  I  hae  my 
ain  manse  to  marry  her  from.  Now  I  willna 
hae  my  life  and  prospects  wrecked  for  women's 
battlement  and  quarrels  ;"  and  then  David  very 
foolishly  spoke  of  Dr.  Balmuto's  coldness  to 


MAGGIE'S  FLIGHT.  205 

him ;  and  on  this  subject  David  got  warm  and 
eloquent,  and  Aunt  Janet  perceived  that  the 
minister  was  disposed  to  blame  Maggie. 

Before  leaving  for  his  classes  again,  he  did 
what  he  thought  was  the  prudent  thing  to  do 
for  all  parties.  He  really  satisfied  no  one. 
Maggie  felt  that  he  had  been  less  kind  to  her  in 
many  ways  than  he  ought  to  have  been.  The 
villagers  resented  the  change  in  his  manners 
and  speech.  Their  affairs,  never  interesting  to 
him,  were  now  distasteful ;  he  went  little  among 
them,  but  sat  most  of  his  time  reading  in  his 
own  cottage.  If  he  walked  down  to  the  pier  or 
the  boat-house,  he  brought  unavoidably  a  dif 
ferent  element  with  him.  The  elder  men  dis 
puted  all  he  said,  the  younger  ones  took  little 
notice  of  him.  He  might  have  understood  from 
his  own  experience  what  Maggie  was  suffering ; 
but  David  had  his  mind  full  of  grand  themes, 
and  he  brushed  the  opinions  of  a  few  fishermen 
off,  as  he  brushed  a  fly  from  his  open  book. 
After  he  had  returned  to  Glasgow,  Aunt  Janet 
said,  with  an  air  of  wrong  and  offence — "  Brither 
and  sister  sail  in  one  boat ;  "  and  she  had  more 
sympathy  for  her  opinion. 

The  dreariest  part  of  the  winter  was  to  come. 


206  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

David  was  not  to  return  home  again  until  the 
end  of  July;  perhaps  not  even  then.  He  had 
been  spoken  to  about  spending  the  long  vaca 
tion  with  Prof.  Laird's  son  in  the  Hebrides,  as 
a  kind  of  travelling  tutor  ;  and  he  hoped  for 
the  appointment.  If  he  got  it  a  whole  year 
might  pass  before  his  next  visit  to  Pittenloch. 
And  Maggie's  position  had  not  been  in  any 
respect  bettered,  either  by  the  minister's  or 
David's  interference.  Aunt  Janet  had  received 
no  special  reproofs  or  threats  for  her  encroach- 
ments  on  Maggie's  rights,  and  she  made  a  point 
of  extending  them  in  many  ways.  Before 
March  was  over  the  girl  was  growing  desperate. 
Character  is  cumulative,  and  Maggie  had  been 
through  these  days  of  mean  and  bitter  trials 
unconsciously  gathering  strength.  She  was  not 
the  same  woman  that  had  stood  reproachful  at 
destiny  by  the  beached  boat  eleven  months 
before.  Yet  even  then  she  had  nursed  a  rebel 
lious  thought  against  the  hopelessness  of  Fate. 
She  had  refused  to  believe  that  the  boat  had 
been  built  and  destined  for  death  and  destruc 
tion  ;  if  something  had  been  done,  which  had 
not  been  done,  it  would  have  come  safe  to 
harbor.  So  also  she  would  not  believe  that  her 


MAGGIES  FLIGHT.  207 

own  misery  was  beyond  help,  and  that  all  that 
remained  to  her  was  a  weary  hoping  and  watch 
ing  for  Allan's  return. 

She  was  just  at  the  point  when  endurance  is 
waiting  for  the  last  unendurable  straw,  when 
one  morning  Angus  Raith  called  early,  and 
asked  permission  to  use  the  "  Allan  Campbell  " 
for  a  day's  fishing.  "  Tak'  her  and  welcome," 
answered  Janet  Caird,  promptly. 

"Aunt  Janet,  you  hae  nae  right  to  lend  what 
isna  yours,  nor  ever  like  to  be  yours.  David 
told  you  that  plain  as  words  could  mak'  it." 

"  You  and  your  brither  wear  the  life  oot  o' 
me,  wi'  your  pride  and  ill-temper.  Tak'  the 
boat,  Angus." 

"  You  let  it  alone,  Angus.  It  is  my  boat, 
and  I'll  send  the  water-bailiff  after  you  for  theft, 
if  you  lift  her  anchor." 

"You  will,  will  you?  You  mean  meeserable 
hizzy !  Then  you'll  hae  to  tak  me  up  wi' 
Angus  ;  for  I'm  wi'  him,  and  will  stand  by  him, 
afore  a'  the  lords  o'  Edinburgh.  Tak'  the  boat, 
Angus.  I'll  tak'  the  blame  o'  it !  David  Pro 
moter  willna  publish  a  thief  in  his  ain  house  ; 
he's  o'er  much  set  up  wi'  himsel'  and  his  gude 
name." 


208  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

11  Thank  you,  Mistress  Caird  ;  I'll  tak'  it.  If 
a  man  tak's  your  sweetheart,  you  may  weel  tak' 
his  boat.  I'll  bring  you  part  o'  my  luck,  when 
the  boat  comes  hame  at  night." 

"  Dinna  count  your  feesh,  until  you've 
caught  them,  Angus  Raith,"  said  Maggie,  pas 
sionately  ;  "and  as  for  luck,  it  is  bad  luck  you 
deserve,  and  bad  luck  you'll  get,  wi'  your  stolen 
boat." 

"  Hear  to  the  lass !  bespeaking  sorrow  for 
gude  men,  on  a  gude  day's  wark  !  " 

Maggie  answered  not  a  word  ;  she  turned 
dourly  round,  went  into  her  room  and  locked 
it.  "  ///  run  awa  from  it  a  !  "  and  in  the  first 
moment  of  her  solitary  passion  of  grief,  the 
words  struck  her  like  an  order.  In  great 
emergencies,  the  soul  does  gives  orders ;  clear, 
prompt,  decisive  words,  that  leave  no  shadow 
of  doubt  behind  them.  "  Go  "  said  her  soul  to 
her,  and  she  began  immediately  to  consider  her 
plans.  She  did  not  want  for  money.  She  had 
upwards  of  .£23  left,  beside  an  order  for  the 
£$o  lying  in  Largo  Bank,  which  David  had 
insisted  on  her  keeping  in  case  any  sudden  need 
came  for  it. 

"  I'll  put  on  my  kirk  clothes,  and   I'll  go  to 


MA  GGIE' S  FLIGHT.  209 

Kinkell ;  Watty  Young  will  carry  me  in  his 
wagon  to  Stirling,  and  there,  I'll  tak*  a  train 
for  Glasgow.  David  will  find  some  way  to  get 
me  a  shelter,  and  I  can  sew,  and  earn  my  ain 
bite  and  sup." 

This  was  her  simple,  straightforward  plan, 
and  as  soon  as  she  had  determined  to  go  away, 
it  seemed  wonderful  to  her  that  she  had  not 
done  it  sooner.  "  But  one  canna  cross  the 
stile  till  they  get  to  it,"  she  reflected  ;  now 
however  the  idea  took  complete  possession  of 
her.  She  heard  Mrs.  Raith  and  various  other 
women  talking  with  her  aunt :  she  heard  her 
self  repeatedly  called  to  come  and  look  after 
the  broth,  or  other  domestic  concerns,  but  she 
took  no  notice  of  any  demand  upon  her.  She 
occupied  the  morning  in  locking  away  her 
simple  treasures,  and  in  making  into  a  small 
bundle  a  linsey  dress  and  a  change  of  linen. 
She  did  not  notice,  until  her  room  grew  sud 
denly  dark,  that  the  wind  had  risen,  and  the  sky 
become  black  and  stormy.  Some  uneasy 
presentiment  drove  her  then  to  the  cottage  door, 
where  she  stood  with  the  rain  blowing  into  her 
face,  watching  the  boats  tossing  back  to  har 
bor. 


210  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  You  see  what  your  ill  wishes  hae  brought. 
I  hope  there  mayna  be  lives  lost  by  your  tem 
per." 

"  Parfect  nonsense  !  There  is  nae  ill  wish  that 
is  mair  than  idle  breath,  if  it  be  na  His  will." 

Just  at  dusk  there  was  an  outcry  and  a 
clamor  of  women's  voices  followed  by  passionate 
wailing,  and  a  few  minutes  afterward  Mistress 
Raith  ran  shrieking  into  the  cottage.  "  The 
'  Allan  Campbell '  has  gone  to  the  bottom,  and 
my  boy  Laurie  wi'  her.  Oh,  the  ill  heart,  and 
the  ill  tongue  o'  you,  Maggie  Promoter !  I'd 
like  fine  to  send  you  after  him  !  Gie  us  a  help, 
wives,  and  let's  gie  her  a  ducking  at  the  vcra 
least!"  The  wretched  mother  was  half  crazy, 
and  Maggie  fled  from  her  presence.  The  circum 
stance  was  the  seal  to  her  purpose.  She  knew 
well  how  her  few  angry  words  would  be  held 
against  her,  and  she  said  mournfully,  "  There's 
nae  hope  o'  kindness  nor  justice  here  for  me. 
I  should  hae  gane  this  morning  when  the  thocht 
came  to  me.  I  wad  hae  been  on  the  road  to 
Stirling  ere  this." 

There  was  a  constant  succession  of  visitors 
at  the  cottage  until  late,  but  as  soon  as  all  was 
quiet,  Maggie  went  to  her  wretched  hearth- 


MA  GGIF: s  FLIGHT.  2 1 1 

stone,  and  silently  made  herself  a  cup  of  tea. 
Janet  Caird  sat  rocking  herself  to  and  fro, 
bewailing  the  dead,  and  the  living ;  but  yet 
carefully  watching  the  unusual  proceedings  and 
dress  of  her  niece.  At  length,  finding  Maggie 
was  not  to  be  provoked  into  words,  she  pre 
tended  suddenly  to  observe  her  kirk  clothes — 
"Whatna  for  hae  you  that  fine  merino  on  this 
night?  Surely,  Maggie  Promoter,  you  arena 
thinking  o'  going  to  the  house  o'  mourning — 
you,  that  ought  to  be  on  your  bended  knees  for 
the  ill  wishes  you  sent  the  puir  lad  to  the  bottom 
wi'.  And  after  a'  it  wasna  Angus  but  little 
Laurie  that  got  the  weight  o'  your  ill  thochts!  " 

"  Do  stop,  aunt.  Say  them  words  to  the 
minister,  and  hear  the  reproof  you'll  get  !  As 
if  the  breath  o'  an  angry  woman  could  make 
Him  turn  the  keys  that  nane  turn  but  Him. 
And  if  you  want  to  ken  whar  I  am  going,  I 
may  as  weel  tell  you  now,  as  the  morn.  I  am 
going  to  my  brither  Davie,  for  I  cannot  thole 
the  bad  tongue  and  the  bad  heart  o'  you, 
anither  day." 

"  Hear  to  the  wicked  lass !  My  bad  tongue  ! 
My  bad  heart !  I  sail  scream  oot  at  sich 
words — " 


212  A   DAUGHTER   OF  FIFE. 

"  Dinna  flyte  mair  at  me  for  ony  sake,  Aunt 
Janet.  You'll  get  the  hoose  to  yoursel'  in  the 
early  morning." 

"And  then  what  sail  I  do?  A  puir  auld 
woman  wiled  awa'  frae  her  ain  hame." 

"  Aunt  Janet,  you  can  go  back  to  your  ain 
hame.  There  is  nane  to  hinder  you.  When 
you  are  ready,  lock  the  door,  and  gie  the  key 
to  Elder  Mackelvine.  But  if  you  like  this  bien 
comfortable  cottage  better  than  the  one  bit 
empty  room  David  took  you  from,  you  can 
stay  in  it  your  lane.  I  wadna  bide  wi'  you 
anither  day  for  gude  words,  nor  gude  gold  ;  no, 
nor  for  onything  else." 

"  My  bite  and  sup  were  aye  sure  at  Dron 
Point ;  but  what  will  I  do  here  at  a'  ?  Hae 
you  made  a  provision  for  the  five  shillings 
weekly?" 

"  Na,  na ;  I  hae  paid  that  o'er  lang.  At  Dron 
Point  you  spun  your  pickle  o'  tow,  and  you 
nursed  the  sick  folk.  There  is  mair  spinning 
here,  and  mair  sick  folk.  You  are  nae  waur  off, 
but  better.  And  it  is  little  o'  the  siller  I  hae 
given  you  that  has  been  spent.  A'  expenses 
hae  come  oot  o'  my  pocket." 

"  I'll  no  hear  tell  o'  you  going  awa' !     Sich 


MAGGIES  FLIGHT.  213 

daftness.  And  surely  if  you  will  gae,  you'll  no 
leave  an  auld  body  like  me  wi'out  some  sma* 
income.  You  that's  got  siller." 

"  I  hae  nae  mair  than  I  want.  But  I'll  ask 
Davie  to  do  what  he  thinks  he  can  do  for  you ; 
seeing  that  you  are  my  fayther's  sister.  Puir 
fayther !  I  hope  he  doesna  ken  how  hard  you 
hae  been  on  me." 

"  You  sail  not  go  !    I'll  no  be  left  my  lane — " 

"  I  tell  you,  aunt,  I  am  going  in  the  morning. 
There  is  naebody  in  Pittenloch  can  stop  me ; 
no,  nor  Doctor  Balmuto  himsel'." 

Still  Janet  Caird  scarcely  believed  Maggie. 
The  girl  had  never  been  further  from  home 
than  Kinkell.  She  thought  she  would  go  first 
to  the  minister,  and  she  felt  sure  the  minister 
would  send  her  back  home.  So  when  Maggie 
passed  out  of  the  door  soon  after  daybreak, 
and  said  "good-bye,  Aunt  Janet,"  the  old 
woman  answered  with  an  affected  laugh — 
"  gude-bye  till  the  sun  is  doon.  The  night  will 
bring  you  hame,  Maggie." 

Maggie  took  the  hills  and  was  far  up  them 
before  the  village  was  astir.  She  had  no  inten 
tion  of  calling  upon  the  minister ;  she  still 
resented  his  last  conversation  with  her,  and 


214  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

after  what  he  had  said  to  Davie  she  had  little 
hopes  of  obtaining  a  kind  hearing  from  him 
just  yet.  She  found  Sandy  Young's  wagon 
nearly  ready  to  start  for  Stirling,  and  she  easily- 
got  a  seat  in  it.  It  was  a  slow,  lumbering  con 
veyance,  but  she  was  in  no  hurry ;  and  she 
enjoyed  very  much  the  leisurely  drive  through 
lanes,  and  inland  hamlets,  and  queer  old  towns. 
It  was  a  strange  and  wonderful  experience  to  a 
girl  who  had  seen  little  of  nature  but  the  sea 
and  the  rocks,  and  little  of  men,  save  the  men 
and  women  of  her  own  distinctive  class. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  she  reached 
Glasgow.  It  was  a  clear,  blowing  March  day, 
very  near  the  anniversary  of  her  father's  and 
brothers'  death.  Glasgow  was  in  one  of  its 
brightest  moods  ;  the  streets  clean  and  crowded, 
and  the  lamplighters  just  beginning  to  light 
them.  She  easily  found  her  way  to  the  Can- 
dleriggs,  and  to  the  house  in  which  David 
lodged.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  her  heart 
failed  her.  She  loitered  about  the  window 
of  the  bakery  until  she  had  a  sense  of  shame 
and  hunger  and  weariness  that  overcame  all 
her  fears.  "  I'm  wanting  Mr.  Promoter, 
ma'am,"  she  said  at  length  to  the  woman 


MA  GGJE' S  FLIGHT.  2 1 5 

behind  the  counter,  and  the  woman  looking 
sharply  at  her  answered,  "  He's  in  his  room. 
Go  through  the  close  and  up  the  stair;  it's 
at  the  right  hand  side." 

It  seemed  strange  to  knock  at  her  brother's 
door,  and  yet  Maggie  felt  as  if  David  would 
expect  it  of  her.  He  answered  the  timid 
summons  by  a  loud  peremptory  "  Come  in  ;  " 
but  when  Maggie  entered  he  leaped  to  his 
feet  in  amazement,  and  let  the  big  book  in 
his  hand  fall  to  the  floor.  There  were  the 
remains  of  tea  on  the  table,  and  a  young 
man  who  was  sitting  with  David  had  pushed 
the  cups  aside,  and  filled  their  places  with  his 
papers  and  books. 

"  Maggie  !  " 

"Ay,  it's  me,  Davie." 

"  What  has  brought  you  to  Glasgow  ?  " 

"You  ken  I  wouldna  come  without  a  good 
reason.  I  hope  I  am  na  unwelcome."  Her 
eyes  filled,  she  could  scarcely  endure  the  strain 
of  uncertainty  as  she  stood  before  him. 

Then  he  took  her  hands  and  kissed  her 
brow,  and  said,  "  Cameron,  this  is  my  sister, 
my  only  near  relative,  so  I'm  sure  you'll  excuse 
me  the  night."  And  the  young  man,  who  had 


2l6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

been  gazing  with  delight  on  Maggie's  beauty, 
rose  with  an  apology  and  went  away. 

"  Now,  Maggie,  I  want  to  know  what  has 
brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  Gie  me  some  bread  and  tea  first,  for  I  am 
fair  famished,  and  then  I'll  tell  you." 

"  I  must  also  speak  to  the  good  wife  about  a 
sleeping  place  for  you  under  her  own  eye. 
You'll  be  going  back  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I'll  not  go  back  to  Pittenloch  again." 
Then  she  told  him  all  the  wrong  and  shame 
and  sorrow  that  had  dogged  her  life  since  he 
had  left  her  at  the  New  Year.  "  Let  me  stay 
near  by  you,  Davie.  I  can  sew,  I  can  go  oot 
to  service.  I'll  be  happy  if  I  see  you  one  hour 
on  the  Sabbath  day." 

His  face  was  white  and  stern  and  pitiless. 
"  You  want  to  ruin  my  life,  Maggie,  and  your 
ain  too.  Mr.  Cameron  will  speak  of  having 
seen  you  here.  And  it  is  nae  less  than  even 
down  ruin  for  a  theology  student  to  have 
women-folks  coming  to  his  room — young 
women  like  yoursel'." 

"  I'm  your  ain  sister,  Davie." 

"  Who  is  to  know  that  ?  Can  I  go  about 
saying  to  this  one  and  to  that  one  'the  woman 


MA  GGIE'  S  FLIGHT.  2 1 7 

who  came  to  see  me,  or  the  woman  I  went  to 
see,  on  Sabbath  last  is  my  sister  ?  It  would 
not  do  for  you  to  stay  here,  for  I  have  com 
pany  to  see  me  and  to  study  with  me,  and  you 
and  I  would  both  be  spoken  of.  It  would  not 
be  right  for  you  to  take  a  room  and  live  by  your 
self,  and  sew  out  by  the  day.  You  are  too 
noticeable,  and  I  could  not  spare  the  time  to 
call  and  look  after  you  in  any  way.  And  as 
to  going  out  to  service,  I  am  mair  than 
astonished  to  hear  you  naming  a  thing  like 
that.  We  are  fisher  folk.  Nane  of  the  Pro 
moters  ever  served  mortal  man  as  hand-maid 
or  flunkey.  We  have  always  served  God  and 
cast  the  nets  for  a  living.  We  werena 
indebted  to  any  human  being.  We  aye  took 
our  daily  bread  from  His  hand.  And  if  you, 
Maggie  Promoter,  would  dare  to  go  out  as  a 
servant  I  would  give  you  the  back  of  my  hand 
for  ever." 

"  Then  what  will  I  do,  Davie  ?  What  will  I 
do  ?  •  I  am  sae  miserable.  Do  hae  some  pity 
on  me." 

"You  speak  as  if  happiness  was  'the 
because'  of  life.  Do  ?  Do  your  duty,  and  you 
will  be  happy,  whatever  wind  blows.  And  as 


2l8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

to  my  having  pity  on  you,  I  would  love  you 
little  if  I  gave  way  now  to  your  impatience  and 
your  wounded  pride.  Who  loves  you  if  I 
don't  ?  I  am  aye  thinking  of  the  days  when 
\ve  will  have  a  braw  house  of  ourain.  Can  you 
not  wait  ?  " 

"  It  is  lang  waiting  ;  and  many  a  hope  goes 
wi'  the  weeks  and  the  months.  Davie,  I  canna 
go  back." 

"  You  must  go  back.  I  will  write  a  letter  to 
Dr.  Balmuto  and  ask  him  to  put  you  with  some 
decent  family  in  Kinkell :  and  keep  his  own 
eye  on  you.  What  can  you  want  more  than 
that  ?  And  let  me  tell  you,  Maggie,  I  think  it 
very  unsisterly  of  you,  bothering  and  hamper 
ing  me  with  women's  quarrels,  when  I  am  mak 
ing  myself  a  name  among  them  that  will  be 
looked  to  for  the  carrying  on  o'  the  kirk  in  the 
future.  But  I'll  say  no  more,  and  I'll  forgive 
this  romantic  folly  o'  yours,  and  to-morrow  I'll 
put  you  in  the  Stirling  train,  and  you'll  go,  as  I 
tell  you,  to  Dr.  Balmuto." 

Maggie  made  no  further  objections.  David 
wrote  the  promised  letter,  and  he  spent  a  part 
of  the  next  day  in  showing  her  the  "  wonder- 
fuls  "  of  the  cathedral  and  the  college.  He 


MA  GGIE  S  FLIGH  T.  219 

was  even  gentle  with  her  at  the  last,  and  not  a 
little  proud  of  the  evident  sensation  her  fresh, 
brilliant  beauty  caused  ;  and  he  asked  her  about 
her  money  matters,  and  when  he  put  her  in  the 
train,  kissed  her  fondly ;  and  bade  her  "  be 
brave,  and  patient,  and  cheerful." 

And  still  Maggie  said  nothing.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears,  and  she  looked  once  or  twice 
at  her  brother  in  a  way  that  made  his  heart  dirl 
and  ache  ;  but  she  seemed  to  have  resigned 
herself  to  his  direction.  Only,  at  the  first  sta 
tion  beyond  Glasgow,  she  got  out  of  the  train, 
and  she  allowed  it  to  go  on  to  Stirling  without 
her. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DRUMLOCH. 

"  Brown  shell  first  for  the  butterfly 
And  a  bright  wing  by  and  by. 
Butterfly   good-bye  to  your  shell, 
And,  bright  wings,  speed  you  well." 

IN  leaving  the  train  Maggie  had  not  yielded 
to  a  passing  impulse.  It  was  a  deliberate 
act.  David's  indifference  to  her  happiness,  his 
subordination  of  all  her  likes  and  dislikes,  her 
time,  and  work,  and  hopes,  to  his  own  ambition 
shocked  and  pained  her.  She  had  spent  the  night 
in  thought  and  had  reached  a  decided  conclusion. 
As  they  walked  about  the  cathedral  and  col 
lege,  and  up  and  down  the  High  Street,  while 
she  looked  with  shuddering  horror  on  the 
squalid,  hopeless  poverty  of  the  inhabitants  of 
those  localities,  she  asked  her  brother  where  the 
rich  people  lived. 


DRUM  LOCH.  221 

"  At  the  West  End,"  answered  David.  "  On 
Sauchiehall  Road,  and  the  crescents  further  on, 
away  maistly  up  to  Kelvin  Grove."  And  later 
on,  as  they  were  passing  down  Buchanan  Street, 
he  pointed  out  the  stages  which  ran  constantly 
to  these  aristocratic  quarters  of  the  city,  and 
asked,  "  if  she  wished  to  see  them  ?  " 

"  Ay,  I  wad  like  too,  but  there's  little  time 
noo,  it  will  do  again." 

Yet  she  took  good  note  of  everything,  and 
David  Promoter,  as  he  sat  that  night  at  his  own 
fireside  with  his  tea  and  books,  little  dreamed 
that  his  sister  Maggie  had  found  herself  a  home 
within  an  hour's  ride  from  the  Candleriggs.  It 
was  not  much  of  a  home,  but  it  satisfied  the 
weary,  heart-sore  girl.  A  little  back  room  on  a 
fourth  story,  with  a  window  looking  into  a 
small  court ;  but  it  was  clean  and  quiet,  and  the 
bit  of  fire  burned  cheerily,  and  the  widow 
woman  from  whom  she  had  rented  it  made  her 
a  refreshing  cup  of  tea,  and  brought  with  it  the 
good  wheat  loaf  and  the  "  powdered"  butter  for 
which  Glasgow  is  famous  ;  as  well  as  a  slice  or 
two  of  broiled  Ayrshire  bacon.  The  food  was 
cheap,  and  the  ordinary  food  of  the  people,  but 
it  seemed  a  great  treat  to  the  fisher-girl,  who 


222  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

had  been  used  to  consider  wheat  flour,  fine 
butter,  and  bacon,  very  like  luxuries. 

And  the  peace  !  Oh  how  good,  how  good 
that  was !  No  captious  old  woman  flyting  and 
complaining  at  every  mouthful.  No  laughing 
noisy  gossips.  No  irritating  interferences.  No 
constant  demand  on  her  attention  or  sympathy. 
She  sat  and  drank  and  thanked  God  with  every 
mouthful  ;  and  with  grateful  tears  promised 
Him  to  live  a  good  life,  and  do  her  honest, 
kindly  duty  every  hour. 

At  last  too,  she  could  think  of  Allan  without 
fear  of  any  evil  suspicious  eye  upon  her.  She 
had  been  in  such  excitement  and  anxiety  for 
some  days,  that  she  had  let  him  slip  from  her 
mind  ;  for  it  was  one  of  this  loving  woman's 
superstitions,  never  to  mix  his  memory  with 
angry  or  sorrowful  thoughts.  But  in  the  peace 
and  stillness  that  followed  her  meal,  she  called 
him  back  to  her.  With  closed  eyes  and  folded 
hands  she  remembered  the  words  he  had  said 
to  her,  remembered  the  strength  and  sincerity 
of  his  promise,  the  glow  and  tenderness  of  his 
handsome  face,  the  truth  in  the  firm  clasp  of 
his  hands,  the  glance  of  commingled  love  and 
grief  which  had  been  his  farewell.  "  I'll  never 


DRUMLOCH.  223 

wrong  him  by  a  doubt.  Never,  never,  never," 
she  whispered.  "  If  God  has  willed  him  tome, 
there's  nane  can  keep  him  frae  me.  Oceans 
canna  part  us,  nor  gold,  nor  friends,  nor  time, 
nor  death  itself.  Allan!  Allan!  Allan!  ' 

At  that  moment  Allan  was  in  a  pretty  pleas 
ure  yacht  idly  drifting  on  the  gulf  of  Mexico. 
Mardi  Gras  had  taken  him  to  New  Orleans,  and 
there  he  had  hired  the  boat,  and  was  leisurely 
sailing  from  one  gulf  town  to  another.  The 
skipper  was  his  only  companion,  but  he  was 
fore,  and  Allan  lay  under  an  awning,  full  of  the 
afternoon's  lazy  content.  The  scent  of  orange 
blossoms  was  blown  from  the  shore,  the  blue 
waters  dimpled  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  flop  of 
their  ripple  in  the  clincher-landings  was  an  old 
and  pleasant  music  to  him.  Suddenly  he  sat 
erect  and  listened  :  "  Maggie  called  me.  Three 
times  over  she  called  me."  The  impression  upon 
his  spiritual  ear  was  so  strong  that  ere  he  was 
aware  he  had  answered  the  call. 

He  could  dream  no  longer.  His  nobler  part 
was  on  the  alert.  He  was  not,  however,  un 
happy.  The  impression  made  upon  him  had 
been  one  of  love  and  longing,  rather  than  of  dis 
tress.  His  eyes  brightened,  his  face  flushed,  he 


224  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

walked  rapidly  about,  like  a  man  under  a  keener 
sense  of  life.  Lovers  see  miracles,  and  believe 
in  them.  Allan  thought  it  nothing  extraordin 
ary  that  Maggie's  soul  should  speak  to  his  soul. 
And  why  should  we  doubt  the  greeting?  Do 
we  any  of  us  know  what  subtle  lines  are  be 
tween  spirit  and  spirit  ?  A  few  years  since,  who 
dreamed  of  sending  a  message  through  the  air? 
Is  it  not  more  incredible  that  flesh  and  blood 
in  New  York  should  speak  with  flesh  and  blood 
in  Washington,  than  that  spirits,  rare,  rapid  and 
vivid  as  thought,  should  communicate  with 
each  other,  even  though  the  circumference  of 
the  world  be  between  them  ?  Allan  did  not 
try  to  analyze  the  circumstance  ;  he  had  a  con 
viction,  positive  and  delicious,  and  he  never 
thought  of  reasoning  it  away. 

With  a  sense  of  infinite  comfort  and  content, 
Maggie  read  her  evening  portion,  and  went  to 
rest.  She  had  determined  to  enjoy  that  even 
ing's  calm,  without  letting  any  thought  of  the 
future  trouble  her;  and  she  awoke  in  the  morn 
ing  strong  and  cheerful,  and  quite  ready  to  face 
the  question  of  her  support.  She  spoke  first  to 
her  landlady.  "  Mistress  Malcolm,"  she  said, 
"  I'm  a  dressmaker,  and  I  want  wark.  Will  you 


DRUMLOCH.  225 

gie  me  your  advice,  for  I'm  not  used  to  city 
ways?" 

"  You  hae  come  to  the  city  in  a  good  time 
though.  In  the  spring  there  is  aye  work  in 
plenty.  Tak'  the  '  Herald  '  and  read  the  adver 
tisements.  I  hae  a  paper  ben  the  kitchen,  I'll 
get  it  for  you.  See  here  now  !  Nae  less  than 
nine  dressmakers  wanting  help  !  The  first  call 
comes  frae  Bute  Crescent ;  that  isna  ten  min 
utes  walk  awa'.  Go  and  see  the  lady." 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  Maggie  was  ring 
ing  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Lauder's  house.  It 
was  a  very  handsome  one,  handsomely  fur 
nished,  and  the  show-rooms  were  gay  with  the 
newest  fashions.  Maggie's  beauty  and  fine 
figure  was  an  instant  commendation.  Can  you 
sew  well,  and  cut,  and  fit  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lau- 
der. 

"  'Deed,  ma'am,  I  think  I  can.  I  was  wi' 
Miss  Jean  Anderson  o'  Largo  for  twa  years. 
She'll  say  the  gude  word  for  me,  every  way." 

"  I  shall  want  you  to  be  part  of  the  day  in 
the  salesroom  ;  but  I  will  provide  you  a  suit 
able  dress  for  that  purpose  ;  and  I  will  give 
you  ten  shillings  a  week,  at  first.  Will  that 
do?" 


226  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  It  will  do  weel,  ma'am." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Maggie  Promoter." 

"  Come  to-morrow,  Miss  Promoter." 

"  Folks  aye  call  me  Maggie." 

"Very  well.     Come  to-morrow,  Maggie." 

The  dress  provided  by  Mrs.  Lauder  was  a 
long,  plain,  black  merino,  tightly  fitting,  with 
small  turned  back  linen  cuffs  and  collar ;  and 
Maggie  looked  exceedingly  handsome  and 
stately  in  it.  Her  work  was  not  hard,  but  the 
hours  were  long,  and  there  was  no  outlook. 
She  could  not  lift  her  head  and  catch  from  the 
sea  the  feeling  of  limitless  space  and  freedom. 
Still  she  was  happy.  It  was  better  to  live 
among  strangers  who  always  gave  her  the  civil 
word,  than  to  be  with  kin  who  used  the  free 
dom  of  their  relationship  only  to  wound  and 
annoy  her.  And  her  little  room  was  always  a 
sanctuary  in  which  she  found  strength  and 
peace.  Also,  the  Sabbath  was  all  her  own  ;  and 
her  place  in  the  kirk  to  which  she  regularly 
went  was  generally  filled  an  hour  before  service 
bells.  That  kirk  was  a  good  place  to  Maggie. 
She  was  one  of  those  delightsome  women,  who 
in  this  faithless  age,  have  a  fervent  and  beauti- 


DRUM  LOCH.  227 

ful  faith  in  God.     Into  His  temple  she  took  no 
earthly  thought,  but  kept  her  heart,  there, 

"  one  silent  space, 
A  little  sacred  spot  of  loneliness, 
Where  to  set  up  the  memory  of  His  cross, 
A  little  quiet  garden,  sacred  still 
To  visions  of  His  sorrow,  and  His  love." 

So  the  weeks  went  calmly,  and  not  unpleas 
antly  away.  Now  and  then  she  had  a  restless 
heartache  about  David ;  and  three  times  she 
walked  all  the  way  to  the  Barony  kirk,  where 
she  knew  he  worshiped,  to  get  a  sight  of  her 
brother.  She  did  not  fear  to  do  so.  David 
Promoter,  on  Sabbath  days,  looked  neither  to 
the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left.  In  the  kirk  his 
pale  grave  face  was  bent  toward  his  Bible,  or 
lifted  to  the  preacher.  Maggie  could  have  sat 
within  the  touch  of  his  hand  and  he  would  not 
have  seen  her.  But  she  got  no  comfort  from 
these  visits  to  David's  kirk,  and  she  missed  all 
the  comfort  of  her  own  kirk.  So  she  finally 
said  to  herself — "  I'll  tak'  my  ain  road,  and  I'll 
ne'er  look  his  road,  and  when  it  will  be  the 
right  time,  the  twa  roads  will  meet  again." 

As  the  summer  advanced  there  was  less  work 
to  do,  and  she  frequently  was  at  home  in  suf- 


228  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

ficient  time  to  stroll  along  Kelvin  side,  or 
visit  the  Botanic  Gardens.  Inland  scenery, 
trees,  and,  above  all  things,  flowers,  greatly 
delighted  her.  It  gave  her  a  thrill  of  exquisite 
pleasure  to  tread  among  long,  green  grass,  and 
feel  the  wavering  sunshine  and  shadows  of  the 
woods  about  her ;  and  in  the  midsummer  month, 
when  she  was  to  have  a  short  holiday,  she  prom 
ised  herself  many  days  of  such  pure  and  natu 
ral  enjoyment. 

But  often  fortune  has  better  plans  for  us  than 
we  make  for  ourselves.  One  day,  near  the  end 
of  June,  Maggie  was  standing  at  an  upper  win 
dow,  gazing  wistfully  at  the  little  park,  full  of 
pretty  shrubs,  which  belonged  specially  to  Bute 
Crescent.  A  handsome  carriage  rapidly  took 
the  turn,  came  dashing  up  the  broad  gravelled 
sweep,  and  stopped  at  Mrs.  Lauder's  house. 
In  a  few  minutes  there  was  a  call  for  Maggie, 
and  she  went  down  stairs.  The  customer  was 
before  a  long  mirror  with  a  mantle  of  black  silk 
and  lace  in  her  hands.  She  was  a  young  lady, 
slight  and  small,  and  as  Maggie  entered  she 
turned  toward  her. 

It  was  Mary  Campbell,  and  Mary  knew  in  a 
moment  who  the  tall  beautiful  woman  in  the 


DRUM  LOCH.  229 

black  dress  was.  She  was  very  much  aston 
ished,  but  she  did  not  in  any  way  betray  her 
surprise.  On  the  contrary,  she  gathered  her 
faculties  quickly  together  and  looked  at  Maggie 
critically,  and  at  first  without  kindness. 

Mary  was  at  this  time  living  at  Drumloch, 
but  a  variety  of  business  had  brought  her  to 
Glasgow  for  a  week  or  two.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  go  to  her  uncle  and  tell  him  of  her  dis 
covery.  Her  second  was  to  keep  it,  at  least  for 
a  little  while,  to  herself.  It  was  almost  certain 
that  there  had  been  some  great  change  in  the 
girl's  circumstances,  or  else  she  had  come  to 
Glasgow  in  search  of  her  lover.  Mary  could 
not  tell  how  much  or  how  little  Maggie  knew 
of  Allan's  movements  and  intentions ;  she 
thought  it  likely  the  girl  had  grown  impatient 
and  left  her  home.  If  so,  perhaps  it  was  her 
duty  to  interfere  in  a  life  brought  so  directly 
to  her  notice.  She  almost  wished  she  had  not 
seen  her;  gratified  curiosity  is  very  well,  but  if 
it  bring  with  it  a  sense  of  obligation,  it  may 
not  be  worth  the  price  to  be  paid. 

Such  were  the  drift  of  Mary's  thoughts;  and 
yet  for  Allan's  sake  she  felt  that  Maggie  ought 
to  be  cared  for.  If  she  did  not  choose  to 


230  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

assume  the  charge,  she  ought  to  tell  her  uncle. 
Mary's  conscience  had  taken  up  the  question, 
and  Mary's  conscience  was  a  tyrannical  one. 
It  gave  her  no  rest  about  Maggie.  "  Maggie  !  " 
She  repeated  the  name  with  a  smile.  "  I  knew 
she  would  have  to  come  down  to  '  Maggie '  or 
'Jennie'.  I  said  so.  Oh,  Theodora,  what  a 
fall !  But  she  is  handsome,  there  is  no  doubt 
of  that.  And  she  walks  as  a  mortal  ought  to 
walk,  '  made  a  little  lower  than  the  angels '. 
And  she  really  has  a  ravishing  smile,  and  perfect 
teeth  also.  I  own  I  was  afraid  about  the  teeth, 
nature  generally  forgets  that  detail.  And  her 
hands,  if  large,  are  shapely ;  and  her  hair  is  a 
glory,  as  it  ought  to  be  in  a  woman — and  I 
wonder  who  taught  her  to  dress  it,  and  if  she 
herself  chose  the  long,  plain,  black  garment. 
Maggie  is  more  of  a  puzzle  than  ever.  I  think 
I  will  find  her  out  without  Uncle  John's  help." 
The  next  day,  and  every  day  afterward  for  a 
week,  she  went  to  Mrs.  Lauder's  on  some  pre 
text  or  other.  She  always  saw  Maggie.  She 
made  little  plans  to  see  her,  and  she  went  away 
from  every  interview  feeling  a  greater  bondage 
to  her.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  take  her  back 
to  Drumloch  with  me  !  "  As  her  visit  to  Glas- 


DRUM  LOCH.  231 

gow  drew  to  its  close  she  came  to  this  con 
clusion.  She  felt  that  for  Allan's  sake  Maggie 
had  a  claim  on  their  care  ;  either  John  Camp 
bell  or  herself  ought  to  find  out  if  she  needed 
help  or  friends,  and  after  consideration  Mary 
thought  she  had  better  assume  the  charge. 
John  Campbell  would  go  straight  to  her,  tell 
her  who  he  was,  and  invite  her  to  Blytheswood 
Square,  and,  in  fact,  take  the  gifl  wholly  on 
trust.  Mary  also  meant  to  be  kind  to  her,  but 
how  hard  it  is  for  a  woman  to  do  a  kindness  as 
God  does  it,  without  saying,  "  Whose  son  art 
thou  ? " 

Just  before  her  return  to  Drumloch,  she 
said  to  Mrs.  Lauder,  "  I  want  some  one  to  sew 
in  my  house.  Do  you  think  Maggie  would 
give  me  a  couple  of  months.  You  cannot  need 
her  until  September." 

"  I  think  she  will  be  very  willing.  I  will 
send  her  to  you." 

"  Mistress  Lauder  says  you  wad  like  me  to 
go  wi'  you,  Miss  Campbell.  I'll  be  glad  to  do 
it.  I  am  just  wearying  for  the  country,  and 
I'll  do  my  best  to  pleasure  you." 

"  Oh,  thank  you.  It  is  to  sew  table  damask. 
I  will  give  you  £5  a  month." 


232  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

11  That  is  gude  pay.     I'll  be  gratefu'  for  it." 
"  Be  ready  by  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  morn 
ing.     I  will  call  here  for  you." 

Drumloch  was  a  very  ancient  place.  The 
older  portion  was  battlemented,  and  had  been 
frequently  held  against  powerful  enemies ;  but 
this  part  of  the  building  was  merely  the  nucleus 
of  many  more  modern  additions.  It  stood  in 
one  of  the  loveliest  locations  in  Ayrshire,  and 
was  in  every  respect  a  home  of  great  splendor 
and  beauty.  Maggie  had  never  dreamt  of  such 
a  place.  The  lofty  halls  and  rooms,  the  wide 
stairways,  the  picturesque  air  of  antiquity,  the 
fine  park  and  gardens,  the  wealth  of  fruits  and 
flowers  quite  bewildered  her.  Mary  took  her 
first  real  liking  to  the  girl  as  she  wandered 
with  her  through  the  pleasant  places  of  Drum- 
loch.  Maggie  said  so  frankly  what  she  liked 
and  what  she  did  not  like  ;  and  yet  she  had 
much  graceful  ingenuousness,  and  extremely 
delicate  perceptions.  Often  she  showed  the 
blank  amazement  of  a  bird  that  has  just  left 
the  nest,  again  she  would  utter  some  keen, 
deep  saying,  that  made  Mary  turn  to  her  with 
curious  wonder.  Individualities  developed  by 
the  Bible  have  these  strange  contradictions, 


DRUMLOCH.  233 

because  to  great  guilelessness  they  unite  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  their  own  hearts. 

Mary  had  been  much  troubled  as  to  where, 
and  how,  she  was  to  place  this  girl.  As  David 
had  boasted,  she  belonged  to  a  race  "  who 
serve  not."  "  She  may  come  to  be  mistress  of 
Drumloch.  It  is  not  improbable.  I  will  not 
make  a  menial  of  her.  That  would  be  a  shame 
and  a  wrong  to  Allan."  She  had  formed  this 
decision  as  they  rode  together  in  the  train,  and 
acting  upon  it,  she  said,  "  Maggie,  what  is  your 
name — all  your  name?  " 

"  My  name  is  Margaret  Promoter.  I  hae 
been  aye  called-  Maggie." 

"  I  will  call  you  Maggie,  then  ;  but  my  serv 
ants  will  call  you  Miss  Promoter.  You 
understand  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  your  will,  Miss  Campbell." 

"  It  is  my  wish,  Maggie.  You  are  to  be 
with  me  entirely;  and  they  must  respect  my 
companion.  Can  you  read  aloud,  Maggie?" 

"  I  wad  do  my  best." 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  read  a  great  deal  to 
me.  There  is  so  much  fine  sewing  to  do,  I 
thought  as  we  worked  together  one  of  us 
could  have  a  needle,  the  other  a  book," 


234  A  DA  UGIITER  QF  FIFE. 

Following  out  this  idea,  she  gave  Maggie  a 
pretty  room  near  her  own.  Into  one  adjoining 
immense  quantities  of  the  finest  linen  and 
damask  were  brought.  "  I  am  just  going  to 
housekeeping,  Maggie,"  said  Mary,  "  and 
Drumloch  is  to  have  the  handsomest  napery 
in  Ayrshire.  Did  you  ever  see  lovelier  dam 
ask?  It  is  worthy  of  the  most  dainty  stitches, 
and  it  shall  have  them."  Still  Maggie's  domes 
tic  status  hung  in  the  balance.  For  a  week 
her  meals  were  served  in  her  own  room,  on  the 
plea  of  fatigue.  Mary  did  not  feel  as  if  she 
could  put  her  with  the  housekeeper  and  upper 
servants ;  she  could  not  quite  make  up  her 
mind  to  bring  her  to  her  own  table.  A  con 
versation  with  Maggie  one  morning  decided 
the  matter.  She  found  her  standing  at  the 
open  window  looking  over  the  lovely  strath, 
and  the  "  bonnie  Boon,"  with  eyes  full  of 
happy  tears. 

"  It  is  a  sweet  spot,  Maggie." 

"  It  is  the  sweetest  spot  on  earth,  I  think." 

"  If  we  only  had  a  view  of  the  sea.  We 
might  have,  by  felling  timber." 

Maggie  shook  her  head.  "  I  dinna  like  the 
sea.  '  There  is  sorrow  on  the  sea,  it  canna  be 


DRUM  LOCH.  235 

quiet.'*     I  ken't  a  fisher's  wife  wha  aye  said, 
the  sweetest  promise  in  a'  the  Book,  was  that  in 
the  Revelations,  '  there  shall  be  nae  sea  there.' ' 
"  Did  you  ever  live  near  the  sea  ?  " 
"  Ay ;  I  was  born  on  the  coast  of  Fife." 
"  Have  you  any  kin  living?  " 
"  I  hae  a  brother — he  minds  me  little." 
"  Promoter,  I  never  heard  the  name  before." 
"  It   is  a  Fife  name.     The  Promoters  dinna 
wander  far.  If  my  faytherhadna  been  drowned, 
I  should  hae  stayed  wi'  my  ain  folk." 

"  But  you  are  glad  to  have  seen  more  of  the 
world.  You  would  not  like  to  go  back  to  Fife, 
now?  " 

"  If  my  eye  hadna  seen,  my  heart  wouldna 
hae  wanted.  I  was  happy." 

"  Promoter  is  an  uncommon  name.  I  never 
knew  a  Promoter  before ;  but  the  Campbells 
are  a  big  clan.  I  dare  say  you  have  known  a 
great  many  Campbells  ?  " 

"  The  man  whom  fayther  sold  his  fish  to  was 
a  Campbell.  And  the  woman  I  lodged  wi*  in 
Glasgow  had  a  daughter  married  to  a  Camp 
bell.  And  Mistress  Lauder  often  sent  me  to 
Campbell's  big  store  for  silk  and  trimmings. 

*  Jeremiah  49,  v.  23. 


236  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

And  whiles,  there  was  a  minister  preached  in 
oorkirk,  called  Campbell — and  there  isyoursel', 
miss,  the  best  o'  them  all  to  Maggie  Pro 
moter." 

"  Thank  you,  Maggie."  Not  in  the  faintest 
way  had  Maggie  betrayed  her  knowledge  of 
Allan,  and  Mary  respected  her  for  the  reticence 
very  much.  "  Now  for  our  work.  I  will  sew, 
and  you  shall  read  aloud.  I  want  you  to  learn 
how  to  talk  as  I  do,  and  reading  aloud  is  an 
excellent  exercise." 

"  I'll  ne'er  speak  such  high  English  as  you, 
and  I  like  my  braid  Scotch  weel." 

"  But  your  voice  is  so  delightful  when  you 
say  the  words  as  you  ought  to.  You  can  read 
'high  English/  why  not  talk  it?" 

"  My  ain  tongue  is  mair  homelike  and  kindly. 
But  I'll  try  yours,  an'  you  want  me  to." 

After  Mary  had  listened  an  hour,  she  sud. 
denly  interrupted  Maggie.  "  You  read  that 
love  scene  with  wonderful  feeling.  Had  you 
ever  a  lover,  Maggie  ?  " 

"  Maist  girls  have  lovers.  I  couldna  expect 
to  escape.  You  will  dootless  hae  lovers  your- 
sel',  ma'am?  " 

"  I  had  one  lover,  Maggie,  not  much  of  a 


DRUMLOCH.  237 

lover,   he   wanted    to   marry    Drumloch,    not 
me." 

"  That  was  a'  wrang.     Folks  shouldna  marry 
for  gold.     Sorrow  comes  that  way." 
''You  would  not,  I  am  sure  ?  " 
"  No,  not  for  a'  the  gold  in  Scotland." 
"  Is  your  lover  poor  then,  Maggie  ?  " 
''  I  ne'er  asked  him  if  he  had  this  or  that. 
He  is  a  gude  kind  lad." 

"  Did  he  ever  give  you  any  beautiful  things 
— precious  rings  or  lockets — as  the  lovers  in 
books  do  ?  The  Sir  Everard  of  whom  you 
have  just  been  reading  gave  Lady  Hilda  a  ring 
of  diamonds  and  opals,  you  remember?" 

"  The  Fife  lads  break  a  sixpence  in  twa  wi' 
their  troth  lass  ;  and  I  hae  my  half  sixpence. 
There  can  be  no  ring  but  a  wedding  ring  for  a 
lassie  like  me." 

Then  Mary  laid  down  her  work,  and  as  she 
passed  Maggie  she  touched  her  gently,  and 
smiled  in  her  face.  She  was  rapidly  coming  to 
a  decision ;  a  few  minutes  in  her  own  room 
enabled  her  to  reach  it.  "  The  girl  is  a  born 
lady ;  I  gave  her  every  opportunity,  but  neither 
to  the  text  of  '  Campbell,'  nor  '  lover/  did  she 
betray  herself  or  Allan.  And  really,  when  I 


238  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

think  of  it,  I  had  almost  a  special  direction 
about  her.  I  did  not  intend  to  go  to  Mrs. 
Lauder's  that  morning.  I  should  not  have 
gone,  if  Madame  Bartholemew  had  been  at 
home.  I  should  not  have  gone  if  Miss  Fleming 
had  been  able  to  do  my  work.  Maggie  has 
evidently  been  put  in  my  charge.  Not  to  go 
any  higher  than  Uncle  John  and  Allan,  I  think 
when  they  demand  her  of  me,  they  will  say — 
'Where  is  thy  sister?'  not  'Where  is  thy 
servant  maid,  or  thy  sewing  maid.'  But  I 
must  be  sure  of  myself.  If  I  accept  this  obli 
gation,  I  must  accept  it  fully  with  all  its  con 
tingencies  and  results.  Can  I  be  generous 
enough?  Patient  enough  ?  Just  enough  ?  Lov 
ing  enough?"  And  no  wonder  men  honor 
good  women  !  Who  could  have  helped  honor 
ing  Mary  Campbell  who  saw  her  stand  with 
honest  purpose  examining  her  own  heart,  and 
then  lowly  kneeling,  asking  God's  blessing  and 
help  for  the  resolve  so  consecrated. 

It  was  no  light  favor  to  be  quickly  given  and 
quickly  removed.  Most  good  things  are  grad 
ual  ;  and  Mary's  kindness  fell  as  the  dew,  a  lit 
tle  in  the  morning,  and  a  little  in  the  evening. 
Here,  a  formality  was  dropped  ;  there  a  tangi- 


DRUM  LOCH.  239 

ble  token  of  equality  given.  First,  the 
evening  dresses  of  white  mull  and  pale 
merinos ;  then  the  meal  at  her  table,  and 
the  seat  in  her  carriage.  And  when  this 
point  had  been  reached,  it  had  been  so 
naturally  and  unobtrusively  reached,  that 
even  the  servants  only  remembered  the  first 
days  of  Maggie's  residence  at  Drumloch,  as  a 
time  when  "  Miss  Promoter  dootless  had  a 
sorrow  o'  her  ain,  and  keepit  much  to  her- 
sel'." 

With  a  more  conventional  girl,  Mary  might 
have  had  much  difficulty  in  reaching  this  state 
of  affairs;  but  Maggie  took  her  kindness  with 
the  simple  pleasure  and  gratitude  of  a  child  ; 
and  she  certainly  had  not  the  faintest  concep 
tion  of  Mary  Campbell's  relation  to  Allan. 
Allan  had  distinctly  spoken  of  his  home  as  be 
ing  in  Bute ;  and  of  his  cousin,  as  living  in  the 
same  house  with  him  from  her  childhood. 
Mary,  in  her  own  castle  in  Ayrshire,  was  cer 
tainly  far  enough  away  from  all  Allan's  state 
ments  to  destroy  every  suspicion  of  her  iden 
tify.  And  the  name  of  "  Campbell"  told  her 
nothing  at  all.  As  Mary  said,  '  The  Camp 
bells  were  a  big  clan."  They  abounded 


240  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

throughout  the  west  of  Scotland.  Around 
Drumloch,  every  third  man  was  a  Campbell. 
In  Glasgow  the  name  was  prominent  on  the 
sign  boards  of  every  street.  In  a  Fife  fishing 
village  there  are  rarely  more  than  four  or  five 
surnames.  A  surname  had  not  much  impor 
tance  in  Maggie's  eyes.  She  had  certainly 
noticed  that  "  Campbell "  frequently  met 
"  Promoter ;  "  but  certain  names  seem  to  have 
affinities  for  certain  lives  ;  at  least  certain  letters 
do  ;  and  Maggie,  quoting  a  superstition  of  her 
class,  settled  the  matter  to  her  own  satisfaction, 
by  reflecting  "what  comes  to  me  wi'  a  'C,'aye 
comes  wi'  good  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TO  THE   HEBRIDES. 

"  And  yet  when  all  is  thought  and  said, 
The  heart  still  overrules  the  head." 

"  From  the  lone  shieling  of  the  misty  islands, 
Mountains  divide  us,  and  the  waste  of  seas : 
But  we  in  dreams  behold  the  Hebrides." 

ONE  morning  toward  the  end  of  July,  Mary 
was  reading  the  "  Glasgow  Herald."  "  Mag 
gie,"  she  said,  "  one  of  the  Promoters  has  evi 
dently  left  Fife,  for  I  see  the  name  among  the 
list  of  students — David  Promoter — he  has  done 
wondrously.  The  man  is  a  miracle,  he  has 
taken  every  prize  in  his  classes,  I  think." 

"  I'm  right  glad  to  hear  tell  o'  it.  I  must 
aye  wish  weel — " 

"  Well,  Maggie,  not  weel.' 

"  Well,  to  the  name." 

It  was  true.  David  had  overstepped  even  his 
own  ambition.  He  had  finished  the  term  with  an 


242  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

ovation  from  his  fellows,  and  he  had  been  urged 
to  go  with  Prof.  Laird's  son  to  the  outer  Heb 
rides.  And  now  that  the  strain  of  his  study 
was  over,  and  the.  goal,  so  far,  nobly  won,  he 
could  afford  to  remember  his  sister.  Indeed 
David  deserves  more  justice  than  these  words 
imply.  He  had  often  thought  of  her  since 
that  March  afternoon  when  he  had  put-her  into 
the  train  for  Stirling.  But  he  really  believed 
that  his  first  duty  was  to  his  studies,  and  he 
fully  expected  that  his  letter  to  Dr.  Balmuto 
would  be  a  sufficient  movement  to  insure  her 
welfare.  Practically,  he  had  thrown  his  own 
duty  upon  the  minister's  conscience,  but  he 
felt  sure  that  the  good  man  had  accepted  the 
obligation,  for  if  not,  he  would  certainly  have 
written  to  him  on  the  subject. 

He  sent  the  doctor  the  newspapers  advertis 
ing  his  success,  and  a  couple  of  days  afterward 
went  to  Kinkell.  Young  Laird  did  not  require 
his  company  for  a  week,  and  he  thought  well 
of  himself  for  taking  a  journey  to  Fife  merely 
to  pleasure  his  sister,  before  he  took  his  own 
pleasure.  He  had  improved  much  in  personal 
appearance  during  his  residence  in  Glasgow. 
He  was  well  dressed,  and  he  had  acquired  an  easy 


TO  THE  HEBRIDES.  243 

confidence  of  manner  which  rather  took  Dr. 
Balmuto  by  surprise.  Perhaps  it  irritated  him 
a  little  also  ;  for  he  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with 
David.  The  first  words  he  said  were  not 
words  of  congratulation,  they  were  a  stern 
inquiry. 

"  David  Promoter,  where  is  your  sister  Mag 
gie  ?     Has  she  come  back  with  you  ?" 
"  I  came  to  ask  you  about  Maggie,  sir." 
"  Me  !     What  way  would  you  come  to  me  ? 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Maggie  Promoter." 
"  Sir,  when  she  left  me  last    March,  I  gave 
her  a  letter  to  you,  and  put  her  in  the  train 
that  was  to  bring  her  here." 

"  What  did  you  write  to  me  about  ?  " 
"  I  told  you  how  unhappy  and  dissatisfied 
my  sister  was  at  Pittenloch  ;  and  I  asked  you 
to  advise  her  to  stay  at    Kinkell   under  your 
eye.     Then  none  could  speak  ill  o'  her." 

"Why  under  my  eye?    Are   you  not  your 
sister's  natural  protector?  " 

"  My  studies — my  college  duties — " 

"  Your  first  duty  was  Maggie.     You  will  be 

a  miserable  divine,  let  me  tell  you,  if  you  have 

not  plenty  of  humanity   in  you  ;  and  the  kirk 

and    the  household  are  bound  together  with 


244  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

bands  that  cannot  be  broken.  What  is  the 
worth  of  all  the  Greek  you  know,  if  you  have 
forgotten  your  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  I'll  not 
give  you  one  word  of  praise,  David,  until  you 
can  tell  me  that  Maggie  is  well  and  doing 
well." 

"  My  God  !  Maggie  not  here  !  Where  then 
is  she?  I  must  awa'  to  Pittenloch  ;  maybe  she 
is  gone  back  there." 

"  No,  she  has  not  gone  back.  Poor  girl ! 
What  would  she  go  back  there  for?  To  be 
worried  to  death  by  a  lad  she  hates,  and  a  lot 
of  women  who  hate  her  ?  I  went  to  Pittenloch 
a  week  after  she  left,  and  I  had  a  day  of  in 
quiries  and  examinations ;  and  I  can  tell  you 
Maggie  has  been  sair  wronged.  That  old 
woman  in  your  house  has  the  poison  of  hell 
under  her  tongue: — and  the  lifted  shoulder  and 
the  slant  eye,  what  woman  can  stand  them  ? 
So  she  went  to  her  brother,  as  a  good  girl  past 
her  wits  would  do,  and  her  brother  put  her  on 
the  train  and  sent  her  back  to  her  sorrow !  " 

"  I  sent  her  to  you,  sir.  I  thought  I  could 
trust  in  you — " 

"  Why  to  me,  I  ask  again  ?  You  knew  that 
I  had  spoken  sharply  to  her  at  the  New  Year, 


TO  THE  HEBRIDES.  245 

how  was  she  likely  to  come  to  me  then  ?  Where 
is  your  sister,  David  Promoter?" 

"  You  should  hae  written  to  me,  sir,  when  you 
found  out  that  Maggie  was  gone  from  her  hame." 

"  I  thought,  everyone  thought,  she  was  with 
you.  I  am  shocked  to  find  she  is  not.  Whom 
else  can  she  be  with  ?  Whom  have  you  driven 
her  to  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"Where  is  Allan  Campbell?  That  is  what 
you  must  next  find  out." 

David  looked  at  the  minister  like  one  dis 
traught. 

"  I  can't  understand — I  can't  believe — gie 
me  a  drink  o'  water,  sir." 

He  was  faint  and  sick  and  trembling.  He 
drank  and  sat  down  a  few  minutes  ;  but  though 
the  doctor  spoke  more  kindly,  and  set  clearly 
before  him  what  was  best  to  be  done,  he  heard 
nothing  distinctly.  As  soon  as  he  was  able, 
even  while  the  doctor  was  speaking,  he  rose 
and  went  out  of  the  house.  Sorrow  has  the 
privilege  to  neglect  ceremonies,  and  David 
offered  no  parting  courtesy,  but  for  this 
omission  the  minister  was  rather  pleased  than 
angry  with  him  : 


246  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  The  lad  has  some  heart,  God  be  thanked !  " 
he  muttered,  "  and  the  day  will  come  when  he 
will  be  grateful  to  me  for  troubling  it." 

David  went  with  rapid  steps  down  the  rocks 
to  Pittenloch.  How  hateful  the  place  looked 
to  him  that  afternoon  !  How  dreary  those 
few  tossing  boats  !  How  mean  the  cottages ! 
How  vulgar  the  women  in  their  open  doors! 
How  disagreeable  the  bare-footed  children 
that  recognized  him  and  ran  hither  and  thither 
with  the  news  of  his  arrival. 

He  was  full  of  shame  and  anger.  Where 
was  his  praise,  where  was  his  honor,  with  this 
disgrace  in  his  home?  How  could  he  show 
those  newspapers  extolling  his  diligence  and 
attainments,  when  Maggie  had  made  his  very 
success  a  disgrace  to  him  ?  Oh,  how  bitterly 
he  felt  toward  her ! 

Mistress  Caird  met  him  at  the  door  with  her 
apron  at  her  eyes:  ''Come  in,  sir,"  she  said, 
with  a  courtesy,  "though  it  is  asorrowfu*  house 
you  come  to." 

"  Aunt  Janet,  you  have  been  drinking.  I 
smell  the  whiskey  above  everything.  Ah,  there 
is  the  bottle !  "  His  sharp  eyes  had  seen  it 
behind  the  tea  caddy  on  the  mantelshelf.  He 


TO    THE  HEBRIDES.  247 

took  it  and  flung  it  upon  the  shingle  as  far  as 
his  arm  could  send  it. 

"  That  is  my  ain  whiskey,  David  ;  bought 
wi'  my  ain  siller,  and  the  gude  ken  I  need  a 
wee  drappietokeep  my  vera  heart  frae  breaking 
wi'  the  sorrow  I  hae  had." 

"  Say,  wi'  the  sorrow  you  hae  made.  Pack 
your  trunk.  Aunt  Janet.  I'll  take  you  to  Dron 
Point  in  the  morning." 

He  would  talk  no  more  to  her.  He  let  her 
rave  and  explain  and  scold,  but  sat  silent  on 
his  hearth,  and  would  go  and  see  none  of  his 
old  friends.  But  it  did  console  him  somewhat 
that  they  came  crowding  in  to  see  him.  That 
reaction  which  .sooner  or  later  takes  place  in 
favor  of  the  injured  had  taken  place  in  Maggie's 
favor  since  the  minister's  last  visit.  Mistress 
Caird  felt  that  she  was  leaving  Pittenloch 
something  like  a  social  criminal.  No  one  came 
to  bid  her  farewell.  David  and  a  boy  he  hired 
took  her  silently  to  her  old  home.  She  had 
sacrificed  every  good  feeling  and  sentiment  for 
popularity,  and  everyone  spoke  ill  of  her. 

Getting  near  to  Dron  Point,  she  said  to 
David,  "  You  are  a  miserable  set-up  bit  o'  a 
man  ;  but  you'll  pay  me  the  £4.  IDS.  you  are 


248  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

owing  me,  or  I'll  send  the  constable  and  the 
sherra  a'  the  way  to  Glasca'  for  it." 

"I  owe  you  nothing,  woman." 

"  Woman,  indeed  !  Maggie,  the  hizzy  ! — 
agreed  to  gie  me  five  shillings  weekly  if  I  wad 
say  the  gude  word  for  her  she  ne'er  deserved, 
and  I  havna  been  paid  for  eighteen  weeks. 
That  mak's  it  £4  ros.  Just  hand  o'er  the  siller 
and  be  done  \vi'  it." 

"  It  is  a  theft,  an  extortion ; "  but  he  took 
a  £$  note  from  his  pocket-book  and  gave  her 
it.  "  That  is  a  gratuity,"  he  said,  "  a  gratuity 
to  help  you  until  you  find  employment.  I  do 
not  owe  you  a  penny." 

"  There's  nae  gratuity  in  honest  earned 
money;  and  if  you  wad  gie  me  ^50  it  wad  be 
too  little  to  pay  me  for  the  loss  o'  health  and 
time  and  gude  name  I  hae  made  through  you 
and  yours.  Set  you  up  for  a  minister,  indeed  ! 
Clean  your  ain  door-stane  before  you  speak  o' 
other  folks.  I'm  glad  to  be  rid  o'  the  sight 
and  the  hearing  o'  you." 

That  was  the  parting  shot,  and  David  could 
have  very  heartily  returned  it.  But  he  heeded 
his  Bible  rule,  and  to  her  railing  made  no 
answer.  Janet  would  rather  have  been  sworn 


TO    THE  HEBRIDES.  249 

at.  He  left  her  bargaining  with  a  man  to  take 
her  blue  kist  to  the  village  public,  but  he  did 
not  return  to  Pittenloch.  He  had  given  Elder 
Mackelvine  the  key  of  the  cottage,  and  the 
elder  had  promised  to  find  a  proper  woman  to 
care  for  it.  So  he  sent  the  boy  back  with  the 
boat,  and  found  the  quickest  way  from  Dron 
Point  to  Glasgow. 

In  his  last  interview  with  Allan  Campbell, 
Allan  had  told  him,  if  any  difficulty  arose  about 
his  money  matters,  or  if  he  needed  more  money 
before  he  returned,  to  go  to  his  father;  and  in 
view  of  such  an  emergency,  had  given  David 
the  address  of  Campbell  &  Co.  He  went  there 
as  soon  as  he  arrived  in  Glasgow.  It  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  and  John  Camp 
bell  had  just  gone  to  his  house  in  Blytheswood 
Square.  The  young  man  who  answered  his 
inquiry  was  pleasant  spoken,  and  trustworthy, 
and  David  said  to  him — "  Where  is  Mr.  Allan 
Campbell?  " 

"  He  is  in  the  United  States.  I  believe  in 
New  Orleans." 

"  When  will  he  return  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  uncertain.  Not  for  a  year  or 
more." 


250  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Then  he  concluded  that  Maggie  had  gone  to 
him.  That  was  the  thing  Dr.  Balmuto  feared. 
What  a  fool  he  had  been  not  to  suspect  earlier 
what  everyone  else,  doubtless,  perceived.  One 
hope  yet  remained.  He  wrote  to  the  Largo 
Bank  about  the  ^"50.  If  Maggie  had  lifted  it, 
then  he  would  feel  certain  she  was  doing 
honestly  for  herself,  in  some  quiet  village,  or 
perhaps,  even  in  Glasgow.  But  when  he  found 
the  money  had  not  been  touched,  he  accepted 
without  further  hope  the  loss  and  the  shame. 
It  is  so  much  easier  to  believe  evil  than  good, 
even  of  those  we  love.  Yet,  how  could  David, 
knowing  Maggie  as  he  did,  do  her  this  shame  ? 
Alas!  David  Promoter  thought  very  badly  of 
the  majority  of  men  and  women.  It  was  his 
opinion  that  God  had  so  made  them,  that  they 
preferred  evil  to  good,  and  only  by  some  special 
kind  of  Divine  favor  and  help — such  as  had  been 
vouchsafed  to  himself — chose  the  right  road. 

He  certainly  grieved  for  Maggie  ;  but  oh  ! 
how  bitterly  he  felt  the  wrong  she  had  done 
him.  For  her  own  indulgence,  how  she  would 
curtail  and  cramp  all  his  future  college  course  ! 
He  had  hitherto  dressed  well,  and  been  able  to 
buy  easily  all  the  books  he  needed.  For  the 


TO  THE  HEBRIDES.  251 

future  he  would  have  to  rely  upon  his  own 
exertions  ;  for  his  first  decision  had  been  to  pay 
back  the  money  he  had  taken  from  Allan's 
fund,  and  make  the  proceeds  of  his  teaching 
defray  his  class  fees.  When  he  had  done  this, 
he  had  only  £8  left,  out  of  the  £50  which  his 
father  had  left  accumulated  ;  but  he  was  to 
receive  £25  from  Prof.  Laird  for  his  two 
months'  services,  and  with  this  ,£33,  and  the 
stray  teaching  he  would  certainly  find  to  do,  he 
really  had  no  fear  of  pushing  his  way  through 
the  next  year.  But  yet  he  felt  keenly  the 
bondage  to  care  and  necessity  which  Maggie's 
selfishness  had  put  him  under.  He  never 
thought  of  blaming  himself.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  she  had  rights  as  sacred  as  his  own. 
"  The  cruelty  of  her !  The  cruelty  of  her !  "  he 
kept  saying,  as  he  moodily  paced  his  little  room. 
He  did  not  remember  his  own  indifference,  nor 
reflect  that  a  trifle  of  kindness,  even  the  small 
favor  of  a  weekly  visit,  would  have  kept  the  girl 
contentedly  under  his  own  eye. 

But  David  had  marked  out  his  course,  and 
he  was  not  the  man  to  permit  any  woman  to 
seriously  interfere  with  his  plans.  He  put  down 
with  a  mighty  will  his  grief  and  disappoint- 


252  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

ment,  and  shame,  and  went  off  to  the  Hebrides 
with  his  pupil.  But  in  spite  of  himself,  Maggie 
went  with  him.  He  was  compelled  to  be  very 
economical,  and  he  could  not  quite  get  rid  of 
anxiety,  and  of  planning  for  the  future,  which 
the  change  in  his  money  affairs  forced  upon  him. 
And  it  was  all  Maggie's  fault.  "  Her  weakness, 
her  craving  '  to  be  made  of,'  and  to  be  happy, 
her  inability  to  bear  a  little  feminine  gossip, 
her  longing  after  the  companionship  of  himself 
—or  another."  Maggie,  after  all,  spoiled  the 
trip  to  which  he  had  looked  forward  for  half  a 
year  with  longing  and  delight. 

When  he  returned  to  the  Candleriggs,  the 
first  thing  he  saw  was  a  letter  from  Maggie. 
It  had  been  lying  upon  his  table  for  some  weeks. 
In  fact  Maggie  had  written  it  soon  after  her 
removal  to  Drumloch,  but  she  did  not  wish  to 
post  it  from  so  small  a  place,  and  she  therefore 
waited  until  her  first  visit  to  Glasgow,  which 
occurred  early  in  August.  She  had  remem 
bered  the  time  when  it  was  possible  that  David 
might  go  to  Pittenloch,  and  she  feared  that  he 
would  be  very  miserable  when  he  found  out 
that  she  had  never  returned  to  Kinkell.  With 
out  revealing  her  own  location  or  circumstances, 


TO  THE  HEBRIDES.  253 

she  wished  to  satisfy  him  as  far  as  possible  of 
her  innocence  and  welfare  ;  so  she  had  thus 
written — 

"  Dear  Davie.  I  am  feared  you  will  not  get 
this,  ere  you  find  out  I  did  not  go  back  yonder 
day  you  sent  me.  I  have  met  with  good  friends, 
and  am  living  honest  and  happy.  Have  no  fear 
anent  me.  I  will  do  right,  and  do  well.  Where 
I  am  there  is  no  ill  can  be  said  of  me,  and  no  ill 
can  come  to  me.  I  was  glad  beyond  telling  to 
read  of  your  well-doing.  You'll  win  to  the  top 
of  the  tree,  Davie,  I  aye  thought  that.  Some 
day,  you  will  find  it  in  your  heart  to  love  Maggie, 
and  to  forgive  her,  that  she  was  forced  to  lay 
an  anxious  thought  on  you.  Your  true,  loving 
sister,  Maggie  Promoter." 

The  letter  was  a  comfort  to  him,  and  for  a 
moment  or  two  a  great  surprise.  The  writing 
was  Maggie's  writing,  but  much  improved,  the 
spelling  was  correct.  It  was  evident  that  she 
was  trying  to  teach  herself,  and  it  pleased  him 
somewhat ;  although  he  was  far  from  consider 
ing  education  as  a  necessity  for  women.  "  To 
think  of  Maggie  reading  the  newspapers  !  "  he 
exclaimed  ;  "but  then,"  he  reflected,  "  she  had 
doubtless  been  looking  for  a  word  about  him," 


254  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

and  with  this  thought,  he  became  just,  even 
tender,  to  her  memory.  As  he  folded  away  the 
letter,  he  said,  "  I  was  wrong  to  think  wrong  of 
her.  She  was  always  a  good  girl,  and  very  fond 
of  me.  It  would  be  long  ere  she  would  do 
aught  to  hurt  my  good  name.  It's  no  to  be 
thought  of."  So  with  a  lighter  heart  he  went 
bravely  to  work  again,  and  the  weeks  and 
months  in  their  busy  monotony  passed  wisely 
and  quickly  away. 

To  Maggie  also,  they  went  wisely  and  quickly, 
although  life  at  Drumloch  was  far  from  being 
monotonous.  Mary  had  the  quick,  nervous 
temperament  which  is  eager  for  change  and 
movement.  She  went  frequently  into  Glasgow 
to  give  and  to  attend  entertainments,  for 
Drumloch  was  yet  in  the  hands  of  painters  and 
upholsterers.  But  she  always  went  alone.  She 
had  fully  made  up  her  mind  that  it  would  not 
be  well  to  let  John  Campbell  see  Maggie.  If 
he  liked  her,  he  would  be  sure  to  write  to 
Allan,  and  curtail  his  probation,  and  Mary  felt 
that  such  a  course  would  be  an  injustice  to  her 
plans  for  the  gradual  preparation  of  the  girl  for 
the  position  she  might  have  to  fill. 

So  Maggie  was  left  in   charge  at  Drumloch. 


TO  THE  HEBRIDES.  255 

Almost  imperceptibly  she  rose  to  this  duty. 
First  one  thing,  then  another,  was  fully  grasped 
by  her,  until  the  steward  and  the  housekeeper 
took  her  directions  as  readily  as  they  did  those 
of  Miss  Campbell.  Maggie  had  a  natural  apti 
tude  for  comprehending  small  pecuniary  and 
household  details,  "accounts"  did  not  confuse 
her,  and  they  did  seriously  confuse  Mary.  She 
could  make  nothing  of  the  "  books  "  which  her 
head  servants  rendered  weekly,  and  which  were 
clear  to  Maggie.  So,  while  Mary  was  enter 
taining  in  Blytheswood  Square,  and  going  to 
dinner  parties,  and  dances,  Maggie  was  equally 
happy  looking  after  the  hundred  things  which 
from  the  village,  the  farm,  the  gardens  and  the 
house  demanded  her  supervision  and  direction. 
During  this  winter  John  Campbell  did  not 
often  visit  Drumloch,  and  when  he  did  Mary 
had  always  a  long  list  of  shopping  for  Maggie 
to  attend  to  in  Glasgow.  The  change  was 
pleasant  to  Maggie  and  it  was  also  pleasant  to 
Mary  ;  for  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  she  some 
times,  at  this  period,  chafed  under  her  self-im 
posed  duty.  Every  one  has  peculiarities;  they 
may  be  admirable  ones,  and  yet  be  irritating  to 
those  whose  peculiarities  run  in  a  different 


256  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

direction.  There  were  occasional  days  in 
which  Mary  felt  that  it  was  the  first  necessity 
of  life  to  get  rid  of  Maggie  Promoter  for  a  lit 
tle  while.  But  she  never  suffered  Maggie  to 
suspect  this  feeling;  she  was  even  at  such  times 
effusively  kind  to  her,  and  generally  com 
promised  with  her  conscience  by  giving  her 
prottgt  some  rich  or  pretty  present. 

Thus  the  winter  passed,  and  in  May  Mary 
went  to  London.  John  Campbell  accompan 
ied  her;  he  had  not  been  well  for  some  months 
and  he  hoped  the  change  of  scene  would  benefit 
him.  Also,  he  had  a  great  pride  in  his  niece, 
and  he  was  no  little  pleased  when  she  was 
presented  at  Court,  and  for  some  months 
reigned  a  belle  in  the  very  best  Scottish  so 
ciety  in  the  metropolis.  At  this  time  she  had 
not  much  interest  in  Drumloch,  though  Maggie 
wrote  to  her  daily,  and  Maggie's  letters  were 
wonderfully  clever  and  amusing.  And  yet  she 
had  not  received  any  special  lessons ;  she 
had  simply  passed  in  a  silent  sort  of  way  out 
of  a  region  of  ignorance,  into  one  penetrated 
by  the  thought  of  educated  men  and  women. 
There  had  been  in  her  mentally  a  happy  un 
conscious  growth  upward,  like  that  of  a  well- 


TO  THE  HEBRIDES.  257 

watered  plant.  But  no  system  of  education 
could  have  been  so  excellently  fitted  for  her 
development.  The  charge  taught  her  self- 
reliance  ;  the  undisputed  authority  she  wielded 
imparted  to  her  manner  ease  and  dignity,  and 
that  nameless  something  which  is  the  result  of 
assured  position.  There  was  also  the  advan 
tage  of  a  conscious,  persistent  effort  on  Maggie's 
own  part  ;  she  tried  to  make  every  letter  she 
wrote  more  neat,  and  clear,  and  interesting. 
She  took  pride  in  the  arrangement  of  her  hair, 
was  anxious  about  the  fit  of  her  dresses,  and  did 
not  regard  the  right  mixture  of  colors  in  her 
costumes  as  a  thing  beneath  her  consideration. 
Early  in  July  Mary  returned  to  Drumloch. 
She  had  come  as  far  as  Glasgow  with  a  party 
who  were  going  to  Oban.  Oban  was  then 
little  known.  During  the  summer  tourists  of 
the  wealthy  and  cultivated  classes,  who  had 
read  Scott's  "  Lord  of  Isles,"  came  on  short  pil 
grimages  to  the  pretty  clachan  ;  but  it  was  not, 
as  now,  the  Charing  Cross  of  the  Highlands, 
where  all  the  world  you  see. 

"  The  doctor  and  the  scholar, 

The  poor  man  with  his  penny  fee, 

The  rich  man  with  his  dollar. 


258  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

The  priest  who  steals  short  holiday, 
The  prince  who  goes  incog,  sir. 

The  schoolboy  with  his  dreams  of  play, 
The  sportsman  with  his  dog,  sir." 

"We  are  going  over  classic  ground,  Maggie, 
and  we  will  read  the  '  Lord  of  the  Isles '  to 
gether  this  week,  ere  we  put  a  foot  on  it,"  said 
Mary,  who  was  in  a  merry  mood  with  life,  and 
all  the  love  and  care  of  it. 

"  But  if  I  go  also,  what  shall  be  done  with 
Drumloch  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Leslie  and  Bruce  will  do  the  best  they 
can ;  and  for  the  rest,  let  things  '  gae  tapsal- 
teerie,'  as  Uncle  John  says.  I  have  made  up  my 
mind,  Maggie,  to  take  you  with  us,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  be  disappointed  for  a  trifle.  Oh, 
Maggie  !  how  we  shall  enjoy  the  great  bens,  and 
the  corries  hazy  with  blue  bells,  and  the  wonder 
ful  isles  of  Skye  and  lona." 

"  Skye  !  My  mother  was  a  Skye  woman.  I 
should  like  well  to  see  Skye.  How  long  shall 
we  be  away  ?  " 

"  Only  a  month.  Winter  comes  soon  among 
the  mountains,  and  the  roads  are  bad,  even  the 
sea  road,  which  is  the  one  we  shall  take." 

"  I  have  a  tryst,"  said  Maggie,  blushing  scar- 


TO    THE  HEBRIDES.  259 

let  ;  "it  is  at  the  end  of  August.  I  canna  break 
it  ;  if  I  did,  life  would  be  a  miserable  uncer 
tainty  to  me,  and  maybe,  to  some  one  else." 

Then  Mary  remembered  how  nearly  the  two 
years  of  Allan's  absence  were  over ;  and  she 
understood  well  what  tryst  Maggie  had  to 
keep.  "  We  shall  be  back  in  Glasgow  by  the 
2Oth  of  August.  How  long  will  it  take  you  to 
keep  this  tryst,  Maggie  ?  " 

"  I  would  ask  a  week  to  go  and  come  again." 

"  But  would  you  come  again  ?  " 

"  I  would  do  that  whate'er  befell." 

"  Do  you  think  your  lover  will  be  there?  " 

"He  said  that." 

"And  do  you  believe  in  him  after  two 
years?  " 

"  Yes.  I  believe  in  every  word  he  said.  He 
will  be  there." 

"  You  shall  be  there  also,  Maggie,  though  we 
should  have  to  send  special  horses  and  carriages 
with  you.  I  intend  to  be  back  at  Drumloch 
about  the  22d,  that  will  give  you  plenty  of 
time.  When  you  return  we  will  go  to  Blythes- 
wood  Square,  until  Uncle  John  gets  home." 

"  What  would  take  him  at  all  to  a  heathen 
country  like  Russia  ?  " 


260  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  They  are  not  quite  heathens,  Maggie ; 
indeed,  I  believe  they  claim  to  be  the  best 
kind  of  Christians ;  and  Russian  rubles  turn 
into  very  good  English  sovereigns.  There  was 
some  trouble  about  one  of  his  ships  at  Odessa, 
and  as  a  very  clever  London  physician  said 
that  Uncle  John  needed  travel  and  change,  he 
thought  he  would  go  himself  and  see  about  it. 
But  he  is  one  of  those  men  who  do  not  like  to 
tread  in  their  own  footsteps,  so  instead  of 
coming  back  by  the  way  he  went,  he  will  pass 
through  Russia  northward,  to  a  port  on  the 
Baltic,  called  Riga,  where  also  he  has  some 
business.  I  think  Riga  is  on  the  Baltic ;  sup 
pose  you  get  the  atlas,  and  we  will  trace  his 
course  together." 

"I  have  heard  you  speak  much  of  Mr. 
Campbell,  I  would  like  well  to  see  him." 

"  You  should  have  seen  him  ere  this,  Maggie ; 
but  I  was  waiting  until — until,  you  looked  and 
spoke  as  you  do  this  morning  ; "  and  she  rose 
and  kissed  the  blush  of  Maggie's  cheek,  and 
then  turned  the  conversation  to  the  dark  tar 
tans  which  she  thought  would  be  the  best 
material  for  travelling  dresses.  "  And  we  want 
them  very  prettily  made,"  she  added,  with  a 


TO    THE  HEBRIDES.  261 

rising  color,  "  for  it  is  fine  folk  we  are  going  to 
meet,  Maggie — Lord  John  Forfar,  and  Captain 
Manners,  and  Lady  Emma  Bruce,  and  Miss 
Napier;  so  you  see,  Miss  Promoter  and  Miss 
Campbell  must  dress  accordingly." 

Maggie  was  young  enough  and  happy  enough 
to  feel  all  the  excitement  of  the  proposed  trip. 
Still  she  was  troubled  about  her  tryst  with 
Allan.  Oban  and  the  Highlands  were  so  far 
away.  In  Pittenloch,  her  mother,  coming  from 
Skye,  had  been  looked  upon  almost  as  a 
foreigner.  She  was  quite  unable  to  compute 
the  distances ;  she  knew  nothing  of  the  time  it 
would  take  to  travel  them  :  she  felt  ashamed  to 
show  anxiety  to  Mary  on  the  matter.  "  But 
I'll  trust  my  way  to  His  ordering.  He'll  no 
let  me  be  too  late  for  any  good  thing  He  wills 
me ; "  and  having  thus  settled  the  subject  in 
her  heart,  she  went  about  the  necessary  prepar 
ations  in  a  joy  of  anticipation,  which  made 
Mary  feel  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  have  so 
fresh  and  charming  a  companion. 

Two  weeks  afterward  they  were  in  Oban, 
watching  from  the  heights  the  exquisite  bay, 
and  the  lovely  isle  of  Kerrera,  the  high  moun 
tains  of  Mull,  and  Ossian's  "  Misty  Morven." 


262  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

The  Petrel,  a  cutter  yacht  of  forty  tons,  was 
lying  at  anchor.  In  the  morning  they  were  to 
start  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Atlantic  across  the 
purple  bogs  of  the  Lews  ;  going  by  way  of 
Mull  and  Canna,  and  swinging  round  Barra 
Head,  toward  the  red,  rent  bastions  of  Skye. 
Through  that  charmful  circle  of  the  outer  isles, 
with  their  slumbrous  tarns,  and  meres,  and 
treeless  solitudes  they  went.  And  oh,  how  full 
of  strange  and  dreamy  beauty  were  the  long 
quiet  summer  days  in  that  land  of  mystic  for- 
getfulness !  that  great,  secret  land  of  waters, 
with  its  irresistible  tides,  and  the  constant 
ocean  murmur  haunting  it  like  a  spirit  voice. 

Maggie  enjoyed  them  with  all  her  soul, 
though  she  did  not  speak  in  italics  about  her 
feelings ;  perhaps  she  did  not  know  very  well 
how  to  express  herself.  Forty  years  ago,  even 
highly  educated  women  did  not  rave  about 
scenery,  they  knew  nothing  of  shadows  and 
colors,  nothing  of  "  effects "  scarped,  jagged 
and  rifted.  Neither  had  they  any  uneasy 
consciousness  that  they  ought  to  blend  the 
simple  delights  of  fresh  air,  fresh  scenes,  and 
pleasant  company,  with  some  higher  kind  of 
recreation. 


TO    THE  HEBRIDES.  263 

Coming  home  through  the  sound  of  Barra, 
Mary  said,  "  We  are  a  day  or  two  late,  Maggie, 
but  I  have  not  forgotten  your  tryst.  We  shall 
run  down  the  coast  now,  and  round  the  Mull  of 
Kintyre  on  the  24th.  The  next  day  we  may  be 
at  Drumloch,  that  will  be  early  enough?" 

"  Mair  than  enough,  Miss  Campbell.  I  needna 
leave  Drumloch  until  the  2/th,  though  if  it 
came  easy  I  would  leave  before  that." 

"  How  near  we  are  to  the  cliffs ;  we  are  rip 
pling  the  shadows  along  shore.  Look  at  those 
forlorn  headlands,  Maggie.  It  was  the  sombre 
sadness  of  this  land  that  charmed  the  early 
saints,  and  girt  all  these  isles  with  their  solitary 
cells." 

"  I  liked  well  to  read  about  them  ;  and  I  can 
never  think  of  lona  without  remembering 
Columba  with  his  face  bright  from  the  com 
munion  of  angels." 

"  And  the  hymn  he  wrote  there,  Maggie,  we 
shall  never  forget  that ;  it  breathes  the  soul 
of  the  saint,  and  pictures  the  scene  of  his 
saintship.  Now  to  the  cries  of  the  sea-birds 
overhead,  let  us  have  a  few  lines ;  the  swell 
of  the  waves  will  keep  the  time  and  the 
tune." 


A  DA  LIGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  That  I  might  often  see 

The  face  of  the  ocean, 
That  I  might  see  its  heaving  waves 

Over  the  wide  ocean, 
When  they  chaunt  music  to  their  Father 

Upon  the  world's  course  ; 
That  I  might  see  its  level  sparkling  strand, 

It  would  be  no  cause  of  sorrow  ; 
That  I  might  hear  the  songs  of  the  wonderful  birds, 

Source  of  happiness  ; 
That  I  might  hear  the  thunder  of  the  crowding  waves 

Upon  the  rocks  ; 
That  I  might  hear  the  roar  by  the  side  of  the  church 

Of  the  surrounding  sea  ; 
That  I  might  see  its  ebb  and  flood 

In  their  career  ; 
That  I  might  bless  the  Lord 

Who  conserves  all, 
Heaven  with  its  countless  bright  orders, 

Land,  strand  and  flood. 
At  times  kneeling  to  beloved  Heaven  ; 

At  times  psalm-singing ; 
At  times  contemplating  the  King  of  Heaven, 

Holy,  the  Chief  ; 
At  times  work  without  compulsion  ; 

This  would  be  delightful ; 
At  times  plucking  duilisc  from  the  rocks  ; 

At  times  fishing  ; 
At  times  giving  food  to  the  poor  ; 

At  times  in  a  solitary  cell. 
The  best  advice  in  the  presence  of  God 


TO    THE  HEBRIDES.  265 

To  me  has  been  vouchsafed. 
The  King,  whose  servant  I  am,  will  not  let 
Anything  deceive  me." 

Skene,  Celtic  Scotland,  v.  2,  p.  93. 

"  Thank  you,  Maggie,  historical  places  are  not 
much  to  see,  often,  but  they  are  a  great  deal  to 
feel.  That  hymn  set  me  back  into  the  sixth 
century,  and  I  have  been  wondering  what  sort 
of  women  you  and  I  would  have  been  then. 
Perhaps  nuns,  Maggie." 

"  We  will  not  think  ill  o'  ourselves,  Miss 
Campbell.  Nane  o'  the  Promoters  were  ever 
Catholics." 

"  The  Campbells  prayed  as  the  king  prayed 
always — we  have  been  a  prudent  clan  for  both 
worlds,  Maggie.  '  To  get  on '  has  been  the  one 
thing  needful  with  us ;  but  there  are  many 
families  of  that  kind.  Has  not  the  wind 
changed  ?  " 

"Yes;  it  looks  like  bad  weather;"  and  the 
mist  as  she  spoke  came  rolling  down  the  sound 
with  the  swoop  of  a  falcon.  Hitherto  they  had 
been  singularly  fortunate.  "  Fine  weather  and 
fair  winds,"  had  been  the  usual  morning  greet 
ing  ;  or  if  a  passing  squall  appeared  it  had 
found  them  near  to  some  sheltered  loch,  or 


266  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

inlet.  Lord  Forfar  was  for  putting  into  Bois- 
dale,  for  the  glass  was  going  down  rapidly ; 
but  Lady  Bruce  was  sure,  "  a  little  breeze 
would  be  a  most  delightful  change." 

It  was  not  very  likely  to  be  so  with  the  wind 
rising  out  of  the  northeast ;  and  ere  long  the 
Petrel's  topmast  was  sent  down,  and  a  double 
reef  put  in  her  mainsail.  Until  midnight  it 
blew  hard  with  a  fast  rising  sea,  and  a  mist  as 
thick  as  a  hedge.  After  this,  it  was  ugly 
weather  all  the  way  home,  and  as  they  passed 
Ailsa  Craig  the  wind  changed  to  full  north,  and 
fetched  the  sea  down  with  it. 

"  The  waves  come  high  down  the  Frith," 
said  Maggie  to  the  owner  of  the  yacht,  a  hardy 
young  fellow  who  leaned  against  the  taffrail, 
and  watched  his  boat  hammering  through  the 
heavy  seas. 

"They  come  any  size  you  like  down  here, 
Miss  Promoter.  But  our  skipper  is  a  good 
sailor;  he  has  only  one  fault  ;  he  drives  a  boat 
without  mercy.  Still  I  think  even  Captain 
Toddy  will  run  for  shelter  to-night." 

Captain  Toddy  thought  not.  He  had  a 
name  for  carrying  on,  and  the  Petrel  was  not 
his  boat  if  she  did  get  a  bit  crushed.  So 


TO    THE  HEBRIDES.  267 

the  ladies,  sitting  under  the  weather  railing, 
watched  the  storm  from  among  the  folds  of 
yellow  oilskin  in  which  they  had  been  tucked. 
Ere  long,  in  the  thick  of  a  gusty  squall,  the 
Petrel  took  her  first  header  very  heavily.  Her 
bow  disappeared  to  the  butts,  and  with  a  tre 
mendous  noise  the  sea  came  over  the  deck  in  a 
deluge.  Every  plunge  she  made  it  was  the  same 
thing,  and  all  of  the  ladies  were  thoroughly 
drenched.  The  cabin  was  wet  and  miserable, 
and  there  was  no  promise  of  any  favorable 
change.  Evidently  the  best  thing  to  do  was 
to  make  for  the  port  of  Ayr  ;  for  on  the  follow 
ing  day  Mary  Campbell  was  suffering  very  much 
from  the  effects  of  her  exposure,  and  when 
Captain  Toddy  let  the  anchor  fly  underfoot 
pretty  near  the  '  auld  Brig '  she  was  In  a  high 
fever,  and  breathing  with  pain  and  difficulty. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   BROKEN   TRYST. 

"  I  sit  on  my  creepie,  and  spin  at  my  wheel, 
And  I  think  on  the  laddie  that  lo'ed  me  sae  weel  ; 
He  had  butae  sixpence,  he  brake  it  in  t\va, 
And  gied  me  the  hauf  o't  when  he  gaed  awa', 

He  said,  think  na  lang  lassie  tho'  I  gang  awa', 
I'll  come  and  see  you  in  spite  o'  them  a'." 

— LOGIE  O'  BUCHAN. 

"  T  AM   going   to   be  ill,"  said    Mary,  with 
X     trembling  lips,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  walk 
ing  into  a  great  darkness,  Maggie." 

They  were  driving  toward  Drumloch  in  the 
early  morning,  and  there  was  that  haunted, 
terrified  look  in  her  eyes,  with  which  a  soul  ap 
prehensive  of  suffering  and  danger  bespeaks 
the  help  and  sympathy  of  those  near  to  it. 
Maggie  had  seen  the  look  before  ;  the  little 
children  dying  upon  her  knees  had  pierced  her 
heart  with  it.  She  remembered  it,  even  in  the 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  269 

eyes  of  strong  men  driven  by  a  sense  of  duty 
or  humanity  into  the  jaws  of  death.  Mary 
took  her  hand  and  clung  to  it  ;  and  let  her 
head  fall  helplessly  upon  Maggie's  breast. 
When  they  reached  home,  she  had  almost  to  be 
carried  to  her  room,  and  servants  were  sent  off 
on  fleet  horses  for  medical  aid. 

"A  bad  case  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs," 
was  the  doctor's  verdict.  "  It  is  likely  to  be  a 
serious  business,  Miss  Promoter,  and  Miss 
Campbell's  friends  should  be  informed  at  once 
of  her  condition." 

Mary  would  not  be  spoken  to  on  the  subject. 
"Her  uncle,"  she  said,  "was  her  only  friend. 
In  his  last  letter  he  had  told  her  to  send  com 
munications  to  the  Hotel  Neva  at  Riga.  It 
was  uncertain  when  he  would  get  there.  And 
what  was  the  use  of  alarming  him,  when  he  was 
too  far  away  to  help  her?  "  Maggie  perceived 
from  the  first  moment  of  Mary's  conviction  of 
danger  and  suffering,  that  the  girl  had  flung 
herself  upon  her  love  and  care.  With  all  her 
soul  she  accepted  the  charge.  She  would  have 
held  herself  as  unworthy  to  live  if  she  had  had 
one  moment's  reluctance  in  the  matter.  In 
strong  physical  anguish  it  is  almost  impossible 


270  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

to  be  generous  and  self-forgetting,  and  Mary, 
in  the  first  hours  of  acute,  lacerating  agony, 
forgot  all  things  but  her  ever-present  need  of 
relief.  Early  in  the  second  day  the  fever  reached 
the  brain,  and  her  talk  became  incoherent.  It 
required  all  Maggie's  firm  strength  and  tender 
love  to  control  the  suffering  girl. 

And  it  was  nearly  time  for  her  tryst  with 
Allan.  On  the  twenty-ninth  of  August  he  had 
bidden  her  farewell ;  two  years  from  that  day 
he  had  promised  to  be  in  Pittenloch.  She 
believed  he  would  keep  his  promise;  but  how 
was  she  to  keep  hers  ?  Only  by  being  recreant 
to  every  sentiment  of  honor,  gratitude  and 
humanity.  "  And  if  I  could  be  that  false  to 
Mary  Campbell,  I  wad  weel  deserve  that  Allan 
should  be  false  to  me,"  she  said.  She  had 
never  read  Carlyle,  never  heard  of  him,  but  she 
arrived  at  his  famous  dictum,  as  millions  of  good 
men  and  women  have  done,  by  the  simplest 
process  of  conscientious  thought:  "I'll  do  the 
duty  that  lies  close  by  my  hand  and  heart,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  One  wiser  than  I  am." 

She  remembered  also  that  she  could  write  to 
Allan.  There  was  a  bare  chance  that  he  might 
get  the  letter,  especially  if  he  should  linger  a 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  271 

few  days  in  Fife.  But  although  she  was  ignor 
ant  of  the  action  which  David  had  taken  with 
regard  to  Janet  Caird,  she  never  thought  of 
addressing  the  letter  to  her  care.  For  a  moment 
she  hesitated  between  Willie  Johnson  and  Elder 
Mackelvine,  but  finally  chose  the  former,  for 
Willie  and  Allan  had  been  great  friends,  and 
she  was  certain  if  Allan  went  to  Pittenloch  he 
would  not  leave  the  village  without  seeing  his 
old  boat  mate.  It  was  a  loving,  modest  little 
letter,  explaining  the  case  in  which  she  found 
herself,  and  begging  him  to  come  to  Drumloch 
and  say  a  word  of  kindness  to  her.  When  she 
folded  and  sealed  it,  she  thought  with  pleasure 
of  Allan's  astonishment  and  delight  at  her 
improvement ;  and  many  an  hour  she  passed, 
calculating,  as  well  as  she  could,  the  distance, 
the  time,  and  the  chances  of  Allan  receiving 
her  message. 

As  it  happened,  he  just  missed  it;  but  it  was 
Maggie's  own  fault.  If  she  had  trusted  it  to 
the  Drumloch  mail-bag  and  servant  it  would 
have  reached  Dairy  on  the  twenty-ninth ;  and 
on  that  day  Willie  Johnson  was  in  the  post- 
village,  and  received  several  letters  lying  there 
for  himself  and  others  in  Pittenloch.  But  when, 


272.  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

in  our  anxiety,  we  trust  to  our  own  judgment, 
instead  of  to  that  something  which,  for  lack  of 
a  better  name,  we  call  good  fortune,  we  are 
usually,  and  perhaps  justly,  deserted  by  good 
fortune.  Maggie  feared  the  footman  would 
shirk  her  solitary  letter,  and  perhaps  keep  it 
until  his  regular  visit  to  the  post  the  following 
day ;  so  she  gave  it  to  the  doctor,  earnestly 
asking  him  to  post  it  as  he  passed  through  the 
town.  And  the  doctor  fully  intended  to  do  so, 
but  he  was  met  by  an  urgent  call  for  help ;  he 
forgot  it  then ;  he  did  not  pass  near  the  post- 
office  for  two  days,  and  the  two  days  might  as 
well  have  been  two  months,  for  it  was  fully  that 
time  before  Willie  Johnson  received  his  next 
letters. 

Mary  was  exceedingly  ill  on  the  twenty-ninth. 
Her  soul  had  reached  the  very  border-land  of 
being.  In  the  dim,  still  room  she  lay,  painfully 
breathing,  faintly  murmuring  words  unintel 
ligible  and  very  far  away.  But  as  Maggie  sat 
motionless  beside  her,  sometimes  hopelessly 
watching,  sometimes  softly  praying,  she  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  beach  at  Pittenloch, 
of  the  fresh  salt  air,  and  the  sea  coming  in  with 
the  wind,  and  the  motion  and  sparkle  and  sun- 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  273 

shine,  and  the  tall,  handsome  man  she  loved 
looking  with  sorrowful  longing  for  her.  And 
though  she  never  grudged  Mary  one  moment 
of  the  joy  she  was  sacrificing,  yet  her  tears 
dropped  upon  the  clay-like  hands  she  clasped 
in  her  own ;  for  human  love  and  human  hopes 
are  very  sweet,  never  perhaps  more  sweet  than 
in  the  very  hour  in  which  we  yield  them  up  to 
some  noble  duty,  or  some  cruel  fatality. 

And  Maggie  mourned  most  of  all,  because 
Allan  would  think  her  faithless ;  would  judge 
her  from  the  wicked,  envious  tongues  that  had 
driven  her  from  her  home  ;  and  it  is  always  the 
drop  of  injustice  in  sorrow  that  makes  sorrow 
intolerable.  Only,  Maggie  trusted  !  In  spite 
of  many  a  moment's  fear  and  doubt  she  trusted  ! 
Trusted  God,  and  trusted  Allan,  and  trusted 
that  somehow  out  of  sorrow  would  come  joy ; 
and  as  she  stepped  softly  about  her  loving  cares, 
or  watched,  almost  breathlessly,  Mary  passing 
Death's  haggard  hills,  she  often  whispered  to 
herself  part  of  a  little  poem  they  had  learned 
together : 

"  I  will  try  to  hope  and  to  trust  in  God ! 
In  the  excellent  Glory  His  abode 
Hafh  been  from  of  old  ;  thence  looketh  He, 


274  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

And  surely  He  cannot  help  seeing  me. 
And  I  think  perhaps  He  thinks  of  me  ; 
For  my  heart  is  with  Him  continually." 

In  the  meantime,  Allan,  like  all  true  lovers, 
had  outrun  the  clock  to  keep  his  tryst.  On 
the  evening  of  the  28th  of  August  a  small 
steamer  cast  anchor  at  Pittenloch  pier.  She 
had  one  passenger,  Allan  Campbell.  He  had 
been  waiting  two  days  in  Leith,  but  no  boat 
from  Pittenloch  having  arrived*  during  that 
time,  he  had  hired  a  small  steamer  to  run  up 
the  coast  with  him.  He  landed  in  the  evening, 
just  about  the  time  the  lamps  in  the  cottages 
were  being  lit ;  and  he  looked  eagerly  toward 
the  Promoter  cottage  for  some  such  cheering 
sign.  As  he  looked,  the  window  became  red, 
and  he  leaped  off  the  boat  in  a  fever  of  joyful 
expectation.  Surely  Maggie  would  be  watch 
ing  !  The  arrival  of  a  strange  steamer  must 
have  told  her  who  was  coming.  Every  moment 
he  expected  to  see  her  at  the  open  door.  As 
he  neared  it,  the  turfs  sent  up  a  ruddy  glow,  and 
touched  the  whole  interior  with  warm  color. 
The  entrance  was  light,  but  the  house  place 
was  empty.  Smiling  to  himself,  he  went  in, 
and  stood  upon  the  snow-white  hearth,  and 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  275 

glanced  round  the  dear,  familiar  room.  Noth 
ing  was  changed.  In  a  moment  or  two  he 
heard  a  step  ;  he  looked  eagerly  toward  it,  and 
a  very  pleasant-looking  old  woman  entered. 

"  I  thocht  it  wad  be  you,  Maister  Campbell. 
Welcome  hame,  sir !  I'll  mak'  you  a  cup  o'  tea 
anon,  for  the  kettle's  boiling,  and  a'  things 
ready." 

"  Thank  you.  I  don't  remember — I  suppose 
Mistress  Caird  has  left  ?  " 

"  Sent  awa',  sir — not  before  she  deserved  it." 

"  And  you  are  in  her  place  ?  I  think  I  have 
seen  you  before  ?  " 

"Nae  doot,  sir.  I'm  Mysie  Jardine — the 
Widow  Jardine,  sir." 

"  And  Maggie  ?  Is  she  near  by  ?  At  home  ? 
Where  is  she?  " 

"There  is  nane  ken  that,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mysie  ?  " 

"  Maggie's  gane  awa',  sir." 

"  Maggie  gone  away  !     Where  to  ?  " 

"  'Deed,  sir,  I'd  be  fain  to  ken  where  to — but 
{  hae  the  house  for  the  care  o'  things ;  and 
David  Promoter  left  word  that  if  I  took  up 
Maggie's  name  in  my  lips,  I  wad  be  to  leave 
instanter ;  sae  I'll  say  naething  at  a'.  Elder 


276  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Mackelvine  kens  a*  that  anybody  kens,  and 
when  you  hae  had  a  drap  o'  tea,  you  can  ask 
him  a'  the  questions  you  like  to." 

"  Never  mind  tea,  I  am  going  at  once  to 
Mackelvine's." 

"  I'll  be  to  get  your  room  ready,  sir  ;  and  put 
a  bit  o'  fire  in  it,  and  the  like  o'  that?  " 

"Yes,  I  shall  come  back  here."  He  felt 
stunned,  and  glad  to  get  into  the  fresh  air. 
Maggie  gone !  He  could  hardly  believe  the 
words  he  had  heard.  Sorrow,  anxiety,  keen 
disappointment,  amazement,  possessed  him  ; 
but  even  in  those  moments  of  miserable  uncer 
tainty  he  had  not  one  hard  or  wrong  thought  of 
Maggie.  Elder  Mackelvine's  cottage  was  quite 
at  the  other  end  of  the  village,  and  he  was 
walking  rapidly  down  the  shingle  toward  it, 
when  he  met  Willie  Johnson. 

"  I  heard  tell  you  were  here,  Maister  Camp 
bell,  and  I  cam'  instanter  to  meet  you,  sir. 
You'll  hae  to  bide  wi'  us  to-night,  for  a'  is 
changed  at  the  Promoters." 

"  So  I  see,  Willie."  Then  mindful  of  Mag 
gie's  good  name,  and  of  the  fact  that  their 
betrothal  was  unknown,  he  said,  with  as  much 
of  his  old  manner  as  he  could  assume,  "What 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  277 

has  come  to  the  Promoters  ?  I  hope  some  good 
fortune  ?" 

"  I  hope  that,  too  ;  but  there's  nane  can  say, 
if  it  be  good  or  ill.  Davie,  you  will  dootless 
hae  heard  tell  o'  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  from  him  for  two 
years." 

"  Then  your  ears  will  be  like  to  tingle  wi'  the 
news ;  for  he  has  set  himsel'  in  a'  the  high 
seats  in  Glasca'  College  ;  and  folks  talk  o'  nae- 
thingless  than  a  Glasca'  pu'pit  for  him;  and  you 
ken,  it  tak's  doctors  in  divinity  to  stand  up 
afore  a  Glasca'  congregation.  Elder  Mackel- 
vine  never  wearies  o'  talking  anent  him.  For 
mysel',  I  canna  say  I  ever  likit  him  o'er  weel ; 
and  since  puir  Maggie  gaed  awa',  I  hae  ta'en 
little  pleasure  in  the  honor  he  has  done  oor 
village." 

"  Maggie  gone  away  !  Where  to  ?  " 

"  Nane  can  tell.  She  had  a  sair  trial  wi' 
yonder  auld  harridan  her  brother  brought  to 
bide  wi'  her." 

"  I  did  not  like  the  woman,  Willie." 

"  Like  her  ?  Wha  wad  like  her  but  the  black 
hearted  and  the  black-tongued  ?  She  gied  the 
girl's  gude  name  awa'  to  win  hersel'  a  bit  honor 


278  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

\vi'  auld  wives,  and  even  the  minister  at  first 
was  against  Maggie ;  sae  when  she  couldna 
thole  her  trouble  langer,  she  went  to  her  brither, 
and  folks  say,  he  gied  her  the  cold  shoulder 
likewise.  But  when  four  months  had  gane  he 
cam'  here  oot  o'  his  wits  nearly,  and  sent  Janet 
Caird  hame  wi'  a  word,  and  the  care  o'  the 
house  was  put  on  Mysie  Jardine.  Davie  hasna 
set  e'en  on  his  cottage,  nor  foot  in  it,  since ; 
nor  sent  any  word  to  his  auld  frien's — though 
as  to  frien's  it  is  naething  less  than  a  professor 
he  changes  hats  or  the  time  o'  day  with  noo, 
they  tell  me  ;  and  I  can  weel  believe  it,  for  he 
aye  had  the  pride  o'  a  Nebuchadnezzar  in 
him." 

Elder  Mackelvine  in  a  measure  corroborated 
Willie  Johnson's  statements.  Maggie  had  been 
"  hardly  spoken  of,"  he  admitted  ;  but  "  I  dinna 
approve  o'  the  way  oot  o'  trouble  that  she  took," 
he  added  sternly.  "  Lasses  ought  to  sit  still 
and  thole  wrang,  until  He  undertakes  their  case. 
If  Maggie  had  bided  in  her  hame  a  few  weeks 
langer,  He  wad  hae  brought  oot  her  righteous 
ness  as  the  noon-day.  There  was  a  setting  o' 
public  feeling  in  the  right  direction  followed 
close  on  her  leaving,  and  then  cam'  Dr.  Bal- 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  279 

muto  wi'  searchings,  and  examinations,  and 
strong  reproofs,  for  a',  and  sundry  ;  and  I  didna 
escape  mysel' ;  "  said  the  elder  in  a  tone  of 
injury. 

"  What  could  they  say  wrong  of  Maggie 
Promoter?  "  asked  Allan,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Ou,  ay,  a  better  girl  ne'er  broke  her  cake  ; 
but  folks  said  this,  and  that,  and  to  tell  the 
even-down  truth,  they  put  your  ain  name,  sir, 
wi'  hers — and  what  but  shame  could  come  o' 
your  name  and  her  name  in  the  same  breath?" 

"  '  Shame  ! '  Who  dared  to  use  my  name  to 
shame  hers  with  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  elder,  and 
you  may  tell  every  man  and  woman  in  Pitten- 
loch,  that  if  I  could  call  Maggie  Promoter  my 
wife,  I  would  count  it  the  greatest  honor  and 
happiness  God  could  give  me.  And  if  I  find 
her  to-morrow,  and  she  will  marry  me,  I  will 
make  her  Mrs.  Allan  Campbell  the  same  hour." 

"  You  are  an  honorable  young  man,  there's 
my  hand,  and  I  respect  you  wi'  a'  my  heart. 
Gudewife,  mak*  us  a  cup  o'  tea,  and  put  some 
herring  to  toast,  Maister  Campbell  will  eat  wi' 
me  this  night,  and  we'  hae  a  bed  to  spare  like 
wise,  if  he  will  tak*  it." 

Allan  gratefully  ate  supper  with  the  elder, 


2 So  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

but  he  preferred  to  occupy  his  old  room  in  the 
Promoter  cottage.  "  I  have  a  kind  of  right 
there,"  he  said,  with  a  sorrowful  smile,  "  I  hired 
it  for  two  years,  and  my  term  is  not  quite  out 
yet." 

"  And  David  told  me  also,  that  whenever  you 
came,  this  year,  or  any  year,  to  gie  you  the  key 
o'  it.  You  will  find  a*  your  books  and  pictures 
untouched  ;  for  when  Dr.  Balmuto  heard  tell 
what  trouble  Maggie  had  had  to  keep  Janet 
Caird  oot  o'  it,  he  daured  her  to  put  her  foot 
inside  ;  and  Davie  cam'  himsel'  not  long  after, 
and  took  her  back  to  Dron  Point  in  a  whiff  and 
a  hurry,  wi'  nae  words  aboot  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  David  is  much  to  blame  about 
his  sister.  He  should  have  let  Maggie  stay 
with  him." 

"  I'll  no  hear  David  Promoter  blamed.  He 
explained  the  hale  circumstances  o'the  case  to 
me,  and  I  dinna  think  the  charge  o'  a  grown, 
handsome  girl  like  Maggie  Avas  comformable, 
or  to  be  thocht  o'.  A  man  that  is  climbing  the 
pu'pit  stairs,  canna  hae  any  woman  hanging  on 
to  him.  It's  no  decent,  it's  no  to  be  expectit. 
You  ken  yoursel'  what  women  are,  they  canna 
be  trusted  wi'  out  bit  and  bridle,  and  David 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  281 

Promoter,  when  he  had  heard  a'  that  Maggie 
had  to  complain  o',  thocht  still  that  she  needed 
over-sight,  and  that  it  was  best  for  her  to  be 
among  her  ain  people.  He  sent  her  back  wi' 
a  letter  to  Dr.  Balmuto,  and  he  told  her  to  bide 
under  the  doctor's  speech  and  ken ;  and  the 
girl  ought  to  hae  done  what  she  was  bid  to  do  ; 
and  so  far  I  dinna  excuse  her;  and  I  dinna 
think  her  brother  is  to  hae  a  word  o'  blame.  A 
divinity  student  has  limitations,  sir;  and  women 
folk  are  clean  outside  o'  them." 

The  elder  was  not  a  man  who  readily  ad 
mitted  petty  faults  in  his  own  sex.  He  thought 
women  had  a  monopoly  of  them.  He  was  quite 
ready  to  confess  that  their  tongues  had  been 
"  tongues  o'  fire  ; "  but  then,  he  said,  "  Maggie 
had  the  '  Ordinances  '  and  the  '  Promises,'  and 
she  should  hae  waited  wi'  mair  patience. 
Davie  was  doing  weel  to  himsel'  and  going  to 
be  an  honor  to  her,  and  to  the  village,  and  the 
country,  and  the  hale  Kirk  o'  Scotland,  and  it 
was  the  heighth  o'  unreason  to  mak'  him  ac 
countable  for  trouble  that  cam'  o'  women's 
tongues." 

That  night  Allan  slept  again  in  his  old  room  ; 
but  we  cannot  bring  back  the  old  feelings  by 


282  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

simply  going  back  to  the  old  places.  Besides, 
nothing  was  just  the  same.  His  room  wanted, 
he  knew  not  what  ;  he  could  not  hear  the  low 
murmur  of  Maggie's  voice  as  she  talked  to  her 
brother  ;  or  the  solemn  sound  of  David's,  as  he 
read  the  Exercise.  Footfalls,  little  laughs, 
slight  movements,  the  rustle  of  garments,  so 
many  inexpressible  keys  to  emotion  were  silent. 
He  was  too  tired  also  to  lay  any  sensible  plans 
for  finding  Maggie  ;  before  he  knew  it,  he  had 
succumbed  to  his  physical  and  mental  weariness, 
and  fallen  fast  asleep. 

He  kept  the  boat  waiting  two  days  in  Pitten- 
loch,  but  on  the  morning  of  the  third  sorrow 
fully  turned  his  back  upon  the  place  of  his  dis 
appointment.  He  felt  that  he  could  see  no 
one,  nor  yet  take  any  further  step  until  he  had 
spoken  with  David  Promoter ;  and  late  the 
same  night  he  was  in  the  Candleriggs  Street  of 
Glasgow.  He  was  so  weary  and  faint  that 
David's  sonorous,  strong,  "  come  in,"  startled 
him.  The  two  men  looked  steadily  at  each 
other  a  moment,  a  look  on  both  sides  full  of 
suspicion  and  inquiry.  Allan  was  the  first  to 
speak.  He  had  taken  in  at  a  glance  the  tall 
sombre  grandeur  of  David's  appearance,  his 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  283 

spiritual  look,  the  clear  truthfulness  of  his 
piercing  eyes,  and  without  reasoning  he  walked 
forward  and  said,  somewhat  sadly, 

"Well,  David?" 

"  I  do  not  know  if  it  is  well  or  ill,  "Mr.  Camp 
bell,  and  I  will  not  shake  hands  on  uncertain 
grounds,  sir.  Ken  you  where  my  sister  is  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  wrong  me  so,  David  Promo 
ter  ?  But  that  would  be  a  small  wrong  in  com 
parison — how  can  you  shame  Maggie  by  such  a 
question  of  me  ?  Since  we  parted  in  Pitten- 
loch  I  have  neither  seen  nor  heard  from  her. 
Oh,  Maggie  !  Maggie  !  " 

He  could  control  himself  no  longer.  As  he 
paced  the  small  room,  the  tears  stood  in  his 
eyes,  and  he  locked  and  unlocked  his  hands  in 
a  passionate  effort  to  relieve  his  emotion. 
David  looked  at  him  with  a  stern  curiosity. 
"  You  are  mair  than  needfully  anxious,  sir.  Do 
you  think  Maggie  Promoter  has  no  brother  ? 
What  is  Maggie  to  you  ?  " 

"  Everything  !  Everything !  Life  is  hopeless, 
worthless,  without  Maggie.  She  is  my  promised 
wife.  I  would  give  every  shilling  I  have  in 
the  world  rather  than  lose  her.  I  would  throw 
the  whole  of  my  world  behind  me,  and  go  into 


284  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

the  fishing  boats  for  her.  I  love  her,  sir,  as 
you  never  can  love  any  woman.  Do  you  think 
I  would  have  given  Maggie  a  heartache,  or  let 
Maggie  slip  beyond  my  ken,  for  all  the  honor 
and  glory  in  the  world,  or  for  a  pulpit  as  high 
as  the  Tower  of  Babel  ?  " 

"  Dinna  confound  things,  Mr.  Campbell. 
Maggie,  and  the  pulpit,  and  the  Tower  o' 
Babel  are  a'  different.  If  you  love  Maggie  sae 
blindly  as  a'  that,  v/hatna  for  did  you  leave  her 
then  ?  Why  didn't  you  speak  to  me  anent  the 
matter  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  that  was  your  plain 
duty,  and  you  are  noo  supping  the  broo  you 
hae  brewed  for  yoursel'." 

David  was  under  powerful  emotion,  and 
culture  disappeared ;  "  he  had  got  to  his 
Scotch  ; "  for  though  a  man  may  speak  many 
languages,  he  has  only  one  mother  tongue ; 
and  when  the  heart  throbs,  and  glows,  and 
burns,  he  goes  back  to  it.  "  Why  didna  you 
speak  wi'  me?"  he  asked  again,  as  he  let  his 
hand  fall  upon  the  table  to  emphasize  the 
inquiry. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why.  Because  Maggie  loved 
you,  and  thought  for  you,  and  would  not  put 
one  dark  drop  into  your  cup  of  happiness. 


THE  BROKEN  TR  YST.  285 

Because  she  was  afraid  that  if  you  knew  I 
loved  her,  you  would  think  I  had  tried  to  help 
you  from  that  motive,  and  so,  refuse  the  help. 
Because  the  dear  girl  would  not  wound  even  your 
self  complacency.  Do  not  think  I  am  ashamed 
of  her,  or  ashamed  of  loving  her.  I  told  my 
father,  I  told  the  only  female  relative  I  have, 
how  dear  she  was  to  me.  My  father  asked  me 
to  test  my  love  by  two  years'  travel  and 
absence.  I  did  so  to  convince  him,  not  because 
I  doubted  myself.  Do  you  know  where  Mag 
gie  is  ?  If  you  do,  tell  me,  I  have  a  right  to 
see  her." 

David  went  to  a  big  Bible  lying  on  a  small 
table,  and  took  from  among  its  leaves  three 
letters.  "  I  have  had  these  from  her  at  differ 
ent  times.  Two  you  see  are  posted  in  Glasgow, 
the  last  received  was  posted  three  weeks  ago, 
from  Portree,  in  Skye.  She  says  she  is  with 
friends,  and  doing  well,  and  you  have  but  to 
read  the  letters  to  understand  she  is  with  those 
who  are  more  than  kind  to  her.  There  are 
few  women  in  Scotland  that  could  write  a 
letter  like  her  last.  It  shows  a  mind  well 
opened,  and  the  pen  o  a  ready  writer." 

"  May  I  have  them  ?  " 


286  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  Since  you  make  so  great  a  claim  on  Mag 
gie,  you  may ;  but  why  did  she  not  write  to 
you,  if  you  were  trothplighted  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  fully  understood  there  was 
to  be  no  communication  of  any  kind  between 
us  for  two  years.  That  much  I  owed  to  the 
best  of  fathers.  Also,  as  you  know,  Maggie 
has  learned  to  write  since  we  parted.  But  I 
ought  to  have  made  surer  provision  for  her 
happiness.  I  am  only  rightly  punished  for 
trusting  her  where  I  did." 

"You  trusted  her  with  her  ain  brother,  Mr. 
Campbell.  If  Maggie  had  done  as  she  should 
hae  done " 

"  Maggie  has  done  perfectly  right.  I  am 
sure  of  that.  I  could  swear  to  it." 

"  Sir,  we  will  keep  to  lawful  language. 
Christian  gentlemen  don't  need  oaths.  I  say 
Maggie  should  have  gone  to  Dr.  Balmuto  when 
I  sent  her." 

"  I  do  not  know  the  circumstances,  but  I  say 
she  ought  not  to  have  gone  to  Dr.  Balmuto.  I 
am  sure  she  only  did  whatever  was  wise  and 
womanly." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  reasoning  with  one  who 
talks  without  knowledge.  If  I  get  any  infor- 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  287 

mation  about  Maggie,  or  from  her,  I  will  send 
it  to  your  address.  I  love  Maggie.  The  lassie 
aye  loved  me.  She  wouldna  thank  you  to 
speak  sae  sharply  to  me.  She  will  tell  you 
some  day  that  I  did  all  that  could  be  expectit 
of  me." 

"  Forgive  me,  David.  I  feel  almost  broken 
hearted.  I  am  irritable  also  for  want  of  food. 
I  have  not  eaten  since  early  this  morning." 

"  That  is  not  right,  sir.  Sit  down,  in  a  few 
minutes  you  shall  have  all  that  is  needful." 

"  No,  no ;  I  must  go  home.  Half  an  hour 
will  take  me  there.  Shake  hands,  David. 
Whatever  differences  we  may  have,  you,  at 
least,  understand  fully  that  I  never  could 
wrong  your  sister." 

"  I  am  glad  to  give  you  my  hand,  sir.  I  owe 
you  more  than  can  be  told.  I  had  not  been 
where  I  am  to-day  but  for  you." 

"  And  if  there  is  anything  more  needed  ?  " 

"There  is  nothing  more,  sir.  I  have  paid 
back  all  I  borrowed.  I  have  been  fortunate 
above  my  fellows.  I  owe  you  only  the  grati 
tude  I  freely  and  constantly  pay." 

Allan  scarcely  understood  him  ;  he  grasped 
the  hand  David  offered  him,  then  walked  to 


288  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Argyle  Street  and  called  a  cab  ;  in  half  an  hour, 
he  was  in  his  own  rooms  in  the  Blytheswood 
Square  house.  His  advent  caused  a  little  sen 
sation;  the  housekeeper  almost  felt  it  to  be  a 
wrong.  "  In  the  very  thick  of  the  cleaning !  " 
she  exclaimed ;  "  every  bit  of  furniture  under 
linen,  and  all  the  silver  put  by  in  flannel.  Miss 
Campbell  said  she  wasna  coming  until  the  end 
o'  September  ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Allan,  everyone 
thought  he  was  at  a  safe  distance.  We'll  hae 
to  hurry  wi'  the  paint  work  noo,  and  if  there's 
one  thing  mair  than  anither  no  to  be  bided  it's 
hurrying  up  what  should  be  taken  pains  wi'." 

Generally  Allan  would  have  been  conscious 
of  the  disapproval  his  visit  evoked,  and  he 
would  have  reconciled  the  servants  to  any 
amount  of  trouble  by  apologies  and  regrets ; 
but  at  this  time  his  mind  was  full  of  far  more 
personal  and  serious  affairs.  He  had  been  in 
clined  to  think  the  very  best  of  Maggie,  to  be 
quite  certain  that  she  had  been  detained  by 
circumstances  absolutely  uncontrollable  by  her ; 
but  after  reading  again  and  again  her  letters  to 
David,  he  did  think  she  ought  to  have  had 
some  written  explanation  of  her  absence  wait 
ing  for  him.  She  knew  he  would  certainly  see 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  289 

either  Willie  Johnson  or  Elder  Mackelvine, 
and  he  felt  that  she  might — if  she  wished — 
have  spared  him  much  anxiety  and  disappoint 
ment. 

He  longed  now  to  see  his  father ;  he  deter 
mined  to  tell  him  the  truth,  and  be  guided  by 
his  advice.  But  John  Campbell's  last  letter  to 
his  son  had  been  dated  from  Southern  Russia, 
and  it  was  scarcely  likely  he  would  be  in  Glas 
gow  for  three  weeks.  However,  Mary  Camp 
bell  was  at  Drumloch,  and  he  thought  as  he 
sipped  his  coffee,  that  it  would  probably  be  the 
best  thing  to  go  there,  rest  for  a  day  or  two 
with  his  cousin,  and  if  he  found  her  sympa 
thetic,  ask  her  help  in  his  perplexity. 

He  called  at  the  office  on  his  way  to  the  rail 
way  station,  and  he  was  met  by  the  manager 
with  an  exclamation  of  peculiar  satisfaction. 
"  No  one  could  be  more  welcome  at  this  hour, 
Mr.  Allan,"  he  said  ;  "  we  were  all  longing  for 
you.  There  is  bad  news  from  Russia." 

"  My  father  ?  " 

"Is  very  ill.  He  took  a  severe  cold  in  a 
night  journey  over  the  Novgorod  Steppe,  and 
he  is  prostrate  with  rheumatic  fever  at  Riga.  I 
had  just  told  Luggan  to  be  ready  to  leave  by 


290  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

to-night's  train  for  Hull.  I  think  that  will  be 
the  quickest  route." 

"  I  can  catch  the  noon  train.  I  will  call  in 
an  hour  for  money  and  advices,  and  go  myself." 

"That  is  what  I  expected  as  soon  as  I  saw 
you.  Have  you  heard  that  Miss  Campbell  is 
very  ill  ?  " 

"  No.  Is  she  at  Drumloch?  Who  is  caring 
for  her?" 

"  She  is  at  Drumloch.  Dr.  Fleming  goes 
from  Glasgow  every  day  to  consult  with  the 
Ayr  doctor.  Her  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Leslie,  is 
an  old  servant,  she  was  with  Miss  Campbell's 
mother;  forbye,  Fleming  says,  she  has  with  her 
a  young  lady  friend  who  never  leaves  the  sick 
room  night  or  day." 

"  I  was  just  going  out  to  Drumloch,  but  that 
is  now  neither  possible  nor  desirable.  I  could 
be  of  no  use  to  Miss  Campbell,  I  can  be  every 
thing  to  my  father." 

Allan  had  only  one  call  to  make.  It  was 
upon  a  middle-aged  man,  who  had  long  been 
employed  by  their  house  in  affairs  demanding 
discernment  and  secrecy.  Few  words  passed 
between  them.  Allan  laid  a  small  likeness  of 
Maggie  on  the  table  with  a  ;£ioo  Bank  of 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  291 

England  note,  and  said,  "  Simon  Fraser,  I  want 
you  to  find  that  young  lady  for  me.  If  you 
have  good  news  when  I  return,  I  will  give  you 
another  hundred  pounds." 

"  Have  you  any  suggestions,  Mr.  Allan  ?  Is 
she  in  Glasgow  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  You  might  watch  churches 
and  dressmakers." 

"  Am  I  to  speak  to  her?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Shall  I  go  to  the  office  with  reports  ?  " 

"  No.  Keep  all  information  until  I  come 
for  it.  Remember  the  lady  is  worthy  of  the 
deepest  respect.  On  no  account  suffer  her  to 
discover  that  you  are  doing  for  me  what 
unavoidable  circumstances  prevent  me  from 
doing  myself." 

An  hour  after  this  interview  Allan  was  on 
his  way  to  Riga.  In  every  life  there  are  a  few 
sharp  transitions.  People  pass  in  a  moment, 
as  it  were,  from  one  condition  to  another,  and 
it  seemed  to  Allan  as  if  he  never  could  be 
quite  the  same  again.  That  intangible,  un- 
namable  charm  of  a  happy  and  thoughtless 
youth  had  suddenly  slipped  away  from  him, 
and  he  was  sure  that  at  this  hour  he  looked  at 


292  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

things  as  he  could  not  have  looked  at  them  a 
week  before.  And  yet  extremities  always  find 
men  better  than  they  think  they  are.  His  love 
and  his  duty  set  before  Allan,  he  had  not  put 
his  own  happiness  for  one  moment  before  his 
father's  welfare  and  relief.  Without  delay  and 
without  grudging  he  had  answered  his  call  for 
help  and  sympathy. 

But  while  he  was  hurrying  on  his  journey  of 
love  and  succor,  Maggie  was  watching  in  an 
indescribable  sickness  of  delayed  hope.  If 
Allan  got  her  letter  on  the  2gth  she  thought 
he  would  surely  be  at  Drumloch  on  the  3Oth. 
She  gave  him  until  the  evening.  She  invented 
excuses  for  his  delay  for  several  more  wretched 
days.  Then  she  resigned  all  hope  of  seeing 
him.  Her  letter  had  missed  him,  and  perhaps 
he  would  never  again  visit  Pittenloch.  What 
a  week  of  misery  she  spent !  One  morning 
Dr.  Fleming  turned  her  sharply  to  the  light. 
"  Miss  Promoter,"  he  said,  "  you  are  very  near 
ill.  Go  away  and  cry.  Take  a  good  cry.  It 
may  save  you  a  deal  of  suffering.  I  will  stay 
by  Miss  Campbell  an  hour.  Run  into  the 
garden,  my  brave  woman,  and  have  it  out  with 
yourself." 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  293 

She  was  thankful  to  do  so.  She  wrapped 
her  plaid  around  her  and  almost  fled  to  the 
thick  laurel  shrubbery.  As  she  walked  there 
she  cried  softly,  "  Oh,  Allan,  Allan,  Allan,  it 
wasna  my  fault,  dearie  !  It  wasna  Maggie's 
fault !  It  wasna  Maggie's  fault !  "  Her  bit  of 
broken  sixpence  hung  by  a  narrow  ribbon 
round  her  neck.  She  laid  it  in  her  hand, 
kissed  it,  and  wept  over  it.  "  He'll  maybe 
come  back  to  me  !  He'll  maybe  come  back  to 
me  !  And  if  he  never  comes  back  I'll  be  aye 
true  to  him  ;  true  till  death  to  him.  He'll  ken 
it  some  time  !  He'll  ken  it  some  time  !  "  She 
cried  passionately  ;  she  let  her  quick  nature 
have  full  way  ;  and  sobbed  as  she  had  been 
used  to  sob  upon  the  beach  of  Pittenloch,  or 
in  the  coverts  of  its  bleak,  black  rocks. 

The  cruelty  of  the  separation,  the  doubt,  the 
injustice  that  must  mingle  in  Allan's  memory 
with  her,  this  was  what  "  rent  her  heart."  Oh, 
words  of  terrible  fidelity  !  And  how  was  she 
to  conceal,  to  bear  this  secret  wound  ?  And 
who  should  restore  to  her  the  dear  face,  the 
voice,  the  heart  that  wrapped  her  in  its  love  ?  In 
that  sad  hour  how  prodigal  she  was  of  tender 
words !  Words  which  she  would  perhaps  have 


294  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

withheld  if  Allan  had  been  by  her  side.  What 
passionate  avowals  of  her  affection  she  made, 
so  sweet,  so  thrilling,  that  it  would  be  a  kind 
of  profanation  to  write  them. 

When  she  went  back  to  the  house  she  was 
weary,  but  calm.  Only  hope  seemed  to  have 
gone  forever.  There  are  melancholy  days  in 
which  the  sun  has  no  color,  and  the  clouds 
hang  in  dark  masses,  gray  upon  darker  gray. 
Life  has  the  same  pallors  and  glooms ;  we  are 
weary  of  ourselves  and  of  others,  we  have  the 
sensation  of  defeat  upon  defeat,  of  hopeless 
struggles,  of  mortal  languors  that  no  faith  can 
lift.  As  Maggie  watched  that  day  beside  her 
friend  she  felt  such  prostration.  She  smiled 
scornfully  to  herself  as  she  remembered  that 
ever  in  the  novels  which  she  had  read  the  lover 
and  the  hero  always  appeared  in  some  such 
moments  of  extremity  as  she  had  gone  through. 
But  Allan  had  not  found  her  in  the  laurel  walk, 
and  she  did  not  believe  he  would  ever  try  to 
find  her  again.  Sorrow  had  not  yet  taught  her 
that  destiny  loves  surprises. 

About  midnight  she  walked  into  an  adjoining 
dressing  room  and  looked  out.  How  cold  and 
steely  the  river  wound  through  the  brown 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  295 

woods  until  it  mingled  with  the  ghostly  film  on 
the  horizon  !  Through  what  cloudy  crags, 

The  moon  came  rushing  like  a  stag, 
With  one  star  like  a  hound, 

behind  it !  As  she  watched  the  solemn,  restless 
picture,  she  was  called  very  softly — "  Mag 
gie  !" 

The  word  was  scarce  audible,  but  she  stepped 
swiftly  back,  and  kneeling  by  Mary's  side  lifted 
her  wasted  hand.  The  eyes  that  met  hers  had 
the  light  of  reason  in  them  at  last. 

"  I  am  awake,  Maggie." 

"Yes,  dear.  Do  not  talk,  you  have  oeen  ill ; 
you  are  getting  better." 

Mary  smiled.  The  happiest  of  pillows  is 
that  which  Death  has  frowned  on,  and  passed 
over.  "  I  am  really  getting  well  ?  " 

"  You  are  really  getting  well.     Sleep  again." 

There  was  a  silence  that  could  almost  be 
felt ;  and  Maggie  sat  breathless  in  it.  When  it 
became  too  trying,  she  rose  softly  and  went  to 
the  next  room.  There  was  a  small  table  there, 
and  on  it  a  shaded  lamp  and  a  few  books.  One 
of  them  was  turned  with  its  face  down 
ward  and  looked  unfamiliar ;  she  lifted  it,  and 
saw  on  the  fly-leaf,  Cornelius  Fleming,  A.D. 


*g6  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

1800.  It  was  a  pocket  edition  of  the  Alcestis 
in  English,  and  the  good  man  had  drawn  a 
pencil  opposite  some  lines,  which  he  doubtless 
intended  Maggie  to  read : — 

"  Manifold  are  the  changes 
Which  Providence  may  bring. 
Many  unhoped  for  things 
God's  power  hath  brought  about. 
What  seemeth,  often  happeneth  not ; 
And  for  unlikely  things 
God  findeth  out  a  way." 

She  smiled  and  laid  the  little  volume  down. 
"The  tide  has  turned,"  she  thought,  "and 
many  an  ill  wind  has  driven  a  ship  into  a  good 
harbor.  I  wonder  what  was  the  matter  with 
me  this  morning!  "  And  she  sat  quiet  with  a 
new  sense  of  peace  in  her  heart,  until  the  moon 
was  low  in  the  west,  and  the  far  hills  stood 
clear  and  garish  in  the  cold  white  light  of  morn 
ing.  Then  Mary  called  her  again.  There  was 
a  look  of  pitiful  anxiety  on  her  face ;  she 
grasped  Maggie's  hand,  and  whispered  "  The 
29th  ?  Is  it  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Your  tryst,  Maggie  ?  " 

"  I  will  keep  it  some  other  time." 


THE  BROKEN  TRYST.  297 

"Now,  Maggie.  To-day.  At  once.  Oh 
Maggie  !  Go,  go,  go  !  I  shall  be  ill  again  if  you 
do  not." 

It  was  useless  to  reason  with  her.  She  began 
to  cry,  to  grow  feverish. 

"  I  will  go  then." 

"  And  you  will  come  back  ?  " 

"  In  three  or  four  days." 

"  Spare  no  money.  He  will  be  waiting.  I 
know  it.  Haste,  Maggie  !  Oh  dear,  you  don't 
know — oh,  be  quick,  for  my  sake." 

Then  Maggie  told  Mrs.  Leslie  such  facts  as 
were  necessary  to  account  for  Mary's  anxiety, 
and  she  also  urged  her  to  keep  the  appoint 
ment.  "  Better  late  than  ever,"  she  said,  "  and 
you  may  not  be  too  late  ;  and  anyhow  the  salt 
air  will  do  you  good,  and  maybe  set  you 
beyond  the  fit  o'  sickness  you  look  o'er  like  to 
have." 

So  within  an  hour  Maggie  was  speeding  to 
the  coast  of  Fife,  faintly  hoping  that  Allan 
might  still  be  there  ;  "  for  he  must  ken  by  his 
own  heart,"  she  thought,  "  that  it  would  be 
life  or  death,  and  naething  but  life  or  death, 
that  could  make  me  break  a  promise  I  had 
made  to  him." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE   MEETING  PLACE. 

"  Love's  a  divinity  that  speaks 
'  Awake  Sweetheart ! '  and  straightway  breaks 
A  lordlier  light  than  sunshine's  glow, 
A  sweeter  life  than  mortals  know. 
I  bow  me  to  his  fond  command, 
Take  life's  great  glory  from  his  hand  ; 
Crowned  in  one  moment's  sweet  surprise, 
When  Somebody  and  I — changed  eyes." 

AGGIE  had  very  little  hope  of  meeting 
Allan,  and  yet  he  might  have  lingered. 
Judging  him  by  her  own  heart,  she  thought  he 
would  have  done  so,  unless  circumstances  of 
which  she  had  no  knowledge  made  waiting  im 
possible.  It  was  this  faint  hope  that  made  her 
wear  the  costume  most  becoming  to  her — a 
gown  and  mantle  of  dark  blue  cashmere  and 
velvet,  and  a  white  straw  bonnet  with  bands 
and  strings  of  blue  velvet  and  one  drooping 
plume  of  the  same  tint.  Mary  looked  at  her 


M 


THE  MEETING  PLACE.  299 

critically,  and  said,  "  You  do  me  great  credit, 
Maggie,  I  expect  some  one  to  be  very  pleased 
with  me.  Kiss  me,  dear,  and  be  sure  and  bring 
good  news  back  with  you." 

Late  that  night  Maggie  reached  Kinkell. 
She  rested  at  its  small  inn  until  daylight,  then, 
ere  any  one  was  astir,  she  took  the  familiar 
path  down  the  rocks.  Perhaps  she  ought  to 
have  had  a  great  many  fine  thoughts,  and 
grateful  emotions,  on  that  walk  ;  but  people 
cannot  feel  to  order,  and  Maggie's  mind  was 
wholly  bent  upon  Allan  and  herself.  She  was 
also  obliged  to  give  much  of  her  attention  to 
her  feet.  The  shelving  narrow  path,  with  its 
wide  fissures  and  slight  foothold,  had  become 
really  dangerous  to  her.  There  were  points 
at  which  she  almost  feared,  and  she  felt  more 
vividly  than  ever  she  had  done  before  how 
far  the  old  life  had  slipped  behind  her.  She 
had  become  unfit  for  it  ;  she  shrank  from  its 
dangers  ;  and  when  she  came  in  sight  of  the 
cottages,  and  remembered  the  narrow  orbit  of 
life  within  them,  she  shrank  even  from  its  com 
forts  and  pleasures. 

From  her  own  cottage  the  smoke  was  rising 
in  plentiful  volume  through  the  white  wide 


300  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

chimney.  She  did  not  know  of  Janet  Caird's 
removal,  and  supposed  she  would  have  to  parry 
all  her  old  impertinences  and  complaints.  When 
she  opened  the  door  Mysie,  who  was  stooping 
over  the  fire  toasting  a  cake,  turned  her  head  ; 
then  she  lifted  herself  and  dropped  a  courtesy. 

"  I  am  only  Maggie  Promoter,  Mysie.  Is 
Janet  Caird  sick?  " 

"  Why,  Maggie  !  I'd  never  hae  kent  you, 
lassie!  Come  to  the  fire,  for  it  is  raw  and 
cold — I'm  glad  I  had  the  fire  kindled,  and  the 
kettle  boiling — you  can  hae  your  breakfast  as 
soon  as  you  like  it." 

"  I'll  hae  it  the  noo,  Mysie."  She  fell  at  once 
into  her  old  speech,  and  as  she  removed  her 
bonnet  and  mantle  asked  again,  "  Is  Aunt  Janet 
sick?" 

"  I  dinna  ken,  nor  I  dinna  care  much,  either. 
She's  gane  awa'  frae  Pittenloch,  and  Pittenloch 
had  a  gude  riddance  o'  her." 

"  Gane  !  " 

"  Ay  ;  when  your  brother  Davie  cam'  here, 
mair  than  a  year  syne,  he  just  bid  her  pack  her 
kist,  and  he  and  Troll  Winans  took  her  at  day 
light  next  morn  to  whar'  she  cam'  frae.  Elder 
Mackelvine  made  a  grand  exhort  in  the  next 


THE  MEE  TING  PLA  CE.  301 

meeting  anent  slandering  folks;  for  Janet 
Caird  was  a  gude  text  for  it ;  and  Kirsty 
Buchan  said,  it  was  a'  the  gude  Pittenloch  e'er 
got  oot  o'  her." 

"  David  was  here  then  ?  " 
"  Ay,  he  was  here.     Didna  ye  ken  that  ?  " 
"  Was  there  ony  Ither  body  here  ?  " 
"  Ay,  there  was.     A  week    syne  here  comes 
that  bonnie  young  Allan  Campbell  that  was 
aye  sae  fond  o'  your  brither  Davie." 
"  Did  he  stay  here  wi'  you  ?  " 
"Ay,  for  sure  he   did.     For  three  days  he 
stayed  ;  and  he  just  daundered  roun'  the  boats 
and  the  beach,  and  lookit  sae  forlorn,  wanting 
Davie  and  the  bonnie  boat  that  had  ganeto  the 
bottom,    that  folks   were  sorry   for  him.     He 
gied  Elder  Mackelvine  twenty  pounds  for  the 
widows  o'  Pittenloch,  and  he  gied  me  mysel'  a 
five  pound  note ;  and   I  could  hae  kissed  the 
vera  footmarks  he  made,   he  was  that  kindly 
and  sorrowfu'." 

"  Did  he  name  my  name,  Mysie  ?  " 

"Ay,  he  did  that.     He  sat  in  Davie's  chair 

every  night,  and  talked  to  me  anent  you  a'  the 

time  maistly  ;  and  he  said,  '  Mysie,  she'll  maybe 

come   back   some  day ;  and   if   ever  she  does, 


302  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

you'll  tell  her  I  was  here,  and  that  I  missed  her 
sairly  ;'  and  he  left  a  bit  of  paper  for  you  wi' 
me.  I'll  get  it  for  you,  when  we  hae  had  our 
breakfast." 

"  Get  it  the  noo,  Mysie.  I'm  fain  to  see  it ;  and 
I  dinna  want  my  breakfast  much — and  shut  the 
door,  and  run  the  bolt  in,  Mysie;  I'm  no  caring 
to  see  folk." 

It  was  one  of  those  letters  which  we  have 
forgotten  how  to  write — large  letter  cap,  folded 
within  itself,  and  sealed  with  scarlet  wax.  It 
was,  "  Dearest  Maggie !  Sweetest  Maggie  !  Best 
beloved  of  women  !  "  It  was  full  of  tenderness, 
and  trust,  and  sorrow,  and  undying  affection. 
Maggie's  tears  washed  it  like  a  shower  of  rain. 
Maggie's  kisses  sealed  every  promise,  and 
returned  to  the  writer  ten-fold  every  word  of 
its  passionate  mournful  devotion. 

She  did  not  now  regret  her  journey.  Oh, 
she  would  most  gladly  have  walked  every  mile 
of  the  way,  to  have  found  that  letter  at  the  end 
of  it.  "  He'll  come  back  here,"  she  thought ; 
"  love  will  bring  him  back,  and  I  know  by 
myself  how  glad  he  will  be  to  hae  a  word  from 
me."  In  the  drawer  of  the  table  in  Allan's 
room  there  was  some  paper  and  wax.  Allan's 


THE  MEE  TING  PL  A  CE.  303 

letter  had  been  written  with  his  pocket  pencil, 
but  she  found  among  David's  old  papers  the 
remains  of  several  pencils,  and  with  some  little 
difficulty  she  made  them  sufficiently  sharp  to 
express  what  she  wished  to  say. 

She  told  him  everything — where  she  had 
spent  the  time  since  they  parted — how  good 
Miss  Campbell  had  been  to  her — how  impos 
sible  it  would  have  been  to  desert  her  in  an  hour 
of  such  need  and  peril — how  much  she  had  suf 
fered  in  her  broken  tryst,  and  how  longingly 
and  lovingly  she  would  wait  for  him  at  Drum- 
loch,  though  she  waited  there  until  the  end  of 
her  life.  "  And  every  year,"  she  added,  "  I'll 
be,  if  God  let  me,  in  Pittenloch  on  the  2gih  of 
August,  dear  Allan  ;  "  for  she  thought  it  likely 
he  might  come  again  at  that  time  next  year. 

Into  Mysie's  hand  this  letter  was  given  with 
many  injunctions  of  secrecy  and  care.  And 
then  Maggie  sat  down  to  eat,  and  to  talk  over 
the  minor  details  of  David's  and  Allan's  visits ; 
and  the  changes  which  had  occurred  in  her 
native  village  since  she  left  it.  "  I  dinna  want 
you  to  say  I  hae  been  here,  Mysie.  I'll  get 
awa'  at  the  dinner  hour,  and  nane  will  be  the 
wiser.  I  can  do  nae  gude  to  any  one,  and  I'll 


304  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

maybe  set  folks  wondering  and  talking  to  ill 
purpose." 

"  I  can  hold  my  whist,  Maggie ;  if  it's  your 
will,  I'll  no  speak  your  name.  And  I  hope  I 
hae  keepit  a'  things  to  your  liking  in  the  cot 
tage.  If  sae,  you  might  gie  me  a  screed  o' 
writing  to  yourbrither,  sae  that  when  he  comes 
again,  he'll  be  contented,  and  willing  to  let  me 
bide  on  here." 

"  I'll  do  that  gladly,  Mysie.  Hoo  is  a'  wi' 
you  anent  wark  and  siller?  " 

"  I  get  on,  Maggie ;  and  there's  a  few  folk 
do  mair  than  that ;  forbye,  Maister  Campbell's 
five  pounds  will  get  me  many  a  bit  o'  comfort 
this  winter." 

"  Hoo  much  weekly  does  Davie  allow  you  for 
the  caretaking?  " 

"  He  didna  speak  to  me  himsel*.  He  left 
Elder  Mackelvine  to  find  some  decent  body 
wha  wad  be  glad  o'  the  comfortable  shelter, 
and  the  elder  gied  me  the  favor." 

"  Dinna  you  hae  some  bit  o'  siller  beside  frae 
Davie?" 

"  Na,  na ;  I  dinna  expect  it.  The  hame  pays 
for  the  care  o'  it." 

"  But  I'll  hae  to  pay  you  for  the  care  o'  my 


THE  MEETING  PLACE.  305 

letter,  Mysie,  for  I  can  weel  afford  it.  I'll  gie 
you  two  pounds  for  the  next  three  months ;  and 
at  the  beginning  o'  every  quarter  you'll  find 
the  two  pounds  at  the  minister's  for  you.  He'll 
gie  it,  or  he'll  send  it  to  you  by  the  elder." 

"I  dinna  like  to  be  paid  for  a  kindness,  Mag 
gie.  The  young  man  was  gude  to  me,  and  I'd 
do  the  kind  turn  to  him  gladly." 

"  Weel,  Mysie,  David  ought  to  hae  minded 
the  bit  siller  to  you,  and  he  wad  dootless  hae 
done  it,  if  he  hadna  been  bothered  oot  o'  his 
wits  wi'  Aunt  Janet.  Sae,  I'm  only  doing  the 
duty  for  him.  Davie  isna  mean,  he  is  just 
thochtless  anent  a'  things  outside  o'  his  col 
lege,  or  his  books." 

At  twelve  o'  clock,  when  every  one  was  at 
their  dinner,  and  the  beach  was  empty,  Maggie 
easily  got  away  without  observation.  She  did 
not  regret  her  journey.  She  had  Allan's  letter 
and  she  had  also  a  few  withered  flowers  which 
he  had  gathered  on  the  top  of  the  cliffs  during 
his  visit,  and  left  in  his  room.  Poor,  little 
brown  bits  of  gorse  and  heather,  but  they  had 
been  in  his  hands,  and  were  a  precious  and 
tangible  link  between  them.  The  carriage 
which  had  brought  her  to  Kinkell  was  waiting 


306  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

for  her,  and  the  horses  being  refreshed  and 
rested,  she  left  immediately  for  Drumloch. 

She  had  many  a  thought  to  keep  her  com 
pany  ;  but  in  the  main,  they  were  thoughts  of 
hopeful  love  toward  Allan,  and  of  grateful 
affection  toward  Mary.  This  visit  to  Pitten- 
loch  had  enabled  her  to  measure  Mary's  singu 
lar  beneficence  and  patience;  and  she  was 
almost  glad  that  she  had  been  able  to  prove  her 
gratitude  by  a  cheerful  renunciation  of  hopes 
so  dear  and  so  purely  personal.  She  knew 
then,  if  she  had  never  before  known,  the  value 
of  what  had  been  done  for  her,  and  she  under 
stood  why  David  had  so  resolutely  put  aside 
everything  that  would  interfere  with  his  men 
tal  culture.  In  such  a  mood,  it  was  even  easy 
to  excuse  his  harshness.  "  He  feared  I  would 
be  a  hindrance  to  him,"  she  thought ;  "  and 
maybe,  when  a  man  is  climbing  out  of  ignor 
ance  into  knowledge,  he  ought  to  be  feared  for 
hindrances,  even  though  he  likes  them  well." 

Mary  Campbell,  like  most  people  of  a  nerv 
ous  temperament,  had  a  quick,  sensitive  ear. 
She  heard  Maggie's  arrival  and  her  step  upon 
the  stair  long  before  Mrs.  Leslie  did.  She  was 
still  confined  to  her  bed,  but  she  turned  her 


THE  MEETING  PLACE.  307 

questioning  eyes  eagerly  to  the  door  by  which 
Maggie  would  enter.  She  came  in  so  brightly, 
and  with  such  a  happy  light  on  her  face,  that 
Mary  felt  sure  the  journey  had  been  a  success 
ful  one. 

"  In  time,  Maggie,  after  all?  "  she  whispered, 
as  Maggie  kissed  her. 

"  No,  he  did  not  wait  for  me  : — but  it  is  all 
right." 

"  Oh  Maggie  !  what  a  shame  !  " 

11  Don't  say  that,  Miss  Campbell.  He  kept 
his  word.  He  left  me  a  letter.  He  is  not  to 
blame.  No  one  is  to  blame.  'It  will  be  all  for 
the  best.  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  Never  call  me  Miss  Campbell  again,  Maggie. 
I  am  Mary,  your  friend,  your  sister  Mary.  Do 
you  think  I  can  forget  those  dreadful  days  and 
nights  when  you  walked  with  me,  as  I  went 
through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  ?  Though 
I  could  not  speak  to  you  I  knew  you  were 
there.  Your  hand,  so  cool,  so  strong,  and  gen 
tle  was  what  I  clung  to.  On  that  last  awful 
point  of  land,  beyond  which  all  was  a  black 
abyss,  I  clung  to  it.  I  heard  your  voice  when 
I  had  passed  beyond  all  other  earthly  sounds. 
It  was  the  one  link  left  me  between  that  world 


308  A  DA  UGIITER  OF  FIFE. 

and  this.  Maggie!  Maggie!  You  cannot  tell 
how  sorry  I  am  about  this  broken  tryst." 

"You  must  not  say  that,  dear.  You  must 
not  talk  any  more.  I  have  a  letter  that  makes 
it  all  right.  We  will  speak  of  it  again  when 
you  are  stronger." 

"Yes,  Maggie — and  I  know — I  know — it  is 
sure  and  certain  to  come  right — very  soon, 
Maggie." 

Indeed  Mary  had  arrived  at  a  very  clear  decis 
ion.  As  soon  as  she  was  able,  she  intended  to 
write  to  Allan  and  bring  him  to  Drumloch  to 
meet  Maggie.  She  would  make  a  meeting  for 
the  lovers  that  should  amply  repay  the  one 
broken  for  her  sake.  She  knew  now,  that 
as  Allan  had  been  in  Pittenloch,  he  had 
returned  from  America,  and  that  he  was 
still  faithful  to  his  love.  She  felt  certain 
that  there  would  be  a  letter  from  him  among 
her  accumulated  mail  matter.  Perhaps  he 
had  even  called  at  Drumloch.  The  next  time 
she  was  alone  with  Mrs.  Leslie  she  asked 
if  her  cousin  had  been  to  Drumloch  yet.  "  He 
was  expected  home  about  this  time,"  she 
said,  "and  I  should  not  like  him  to  be  turned 
from  the  door,  even  if  I  am  ill." 


THE  MEE  TING  PLA  CE.  309 

"  I  heard  that  he  had  gone  to  Riga,  Miss 
Campbell.  Your  uncle  has  been  no  just  well, 
and  it  was  thought  to  be  the  right  thing  for 
Mr.  Allan  to  go  and  be  company  hame  for  him. 
There  are  letters  nae  doubt  from  baith  o'  them, 
but  you  willna  be  let  meddle  wi'  the  like  o'  thae 
things,  yet  awhile." 

The  winter  set  in  early,  and  cold  ;  and  Mary's 
recovery  was  retarded  by  it.  At  the  beginning 
of  November  she  had  not  left  her  own  rooms. 
But  at  that  time  her  seclusion  was  mostly  a 
precautionary  measure.  She  had  regained 
much  of  her  old  sprightliness,  and  was  full  of 
plans  for  the  entertainments  she  intended  to 
give  as  soon  as  she  was  perfectly  well.  "  I 
am  going  to  introduce  you  to  Glasgow  society 
at  the  New  Year,  Maggie,"  she  said  ;  "and  I 
can  imagine  the  sensation  you  will  cause — the 
wonder — the  inquiries — the  inventions — and 
the  lovers  you  will  be  sure  to  have  !  I  think  we 
shall  enjoy  it  all,  very  much." 

Maggie  thought  so,  also.  She  was  delighted 
with  the  fine  new  costumes  being  made  for 
Mary  and  herself.  The  discussions  about  them, 
their  fitting  on,  their  folding  away  in  the  great 
trunks  destined  for  Blytheswood  Square,  helped 


310  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

to  pass  the  dreary  days  of  the  chill  damp 
autumn  very  happily.  One  morning  early  in 
November  Mary  got  a  letter  which  gave  her 
a  great  pleasure.  "  Uncle  John  is  coming  to 
night,  Maggie ! "  she  cried.  "  Oh  how  glad  I 
shall  be  to  see  him  !  We  have  both  been  to 
the  door  of  death,  and  come  back  to  life. 
How  much  we  shall  have  to  say  to  each  other  ! 
Now  I  want  you  to  dress  yourself  with  the 
greatest  care  to-night,  Maggie  ;  you  must  be 
ready  when  I  have  exhausted  words  on  your 
beauty,  to  step  into  his  presence,  and  make 
words  seem  the  poorest  kind  of  things." 

"  What  shall  I  wear  ?  " 

"Wear?  Well,  I  think  that  dark  brown  satin 
is  the  most  becoming  of  your  dinner  gowns — 
and  dress  your  hair  behind  very  high  and 
loosely,  with  the  carved  shell  comb — and  those 
long  brown  curls,  Maggie,  push  them  behind 
your  pretty  ears;  your  face  does  not  need 
them,  and  behind  the  ears  they  are — bewitch- 
ing." 

Maggie  laughed.  She  liked  handsome  dress, 
and  it  pleased  her  to  be  called  handsome.  She 
had  indeed  a  good  many  womanly  foibles,  and 
was  perhaps  the  more  loveable  for  them.  Dr. 


THE  MEE  TING  PLA  CE.  311 

Johnson  thought  that  a  man  who  did  not  care 
for  his  dinner  would  'not  care  for  more  impor 
tant  things  ;  and  it  is  certain  that  a  woman 
who  does  not  care  for  her  dress  is  very  likely 
to  be  a  mental,  perhaps  also  a  moral,  sloven. 

Mary  had  hoped  to  signalize  her  delight  in 
her  uncle's  visit  by  going  down  stairs  to  dine 
with  him  ;  but  the  day  was  unusually  damp 
and  cold,  and  her  proposal  met  with  such  strong 
opposition  that  she  resigned  the  idea.  She 
dressed  herself  early  in  a  pretty  chamber  gown 
of  pink  silk  trimmed  with  minever  ;  but  in 
spite  of  the  rosy  color,  the  pallor  of  her  sick 
ness  and  long  confinement  was  very  percepti 
ble.  The  train  that  was  to  bring  John  Camp 
bell  reached  Ayr  at  four  o'clock,  and  Maggie 
saw  the  carriage  hurrying  off  to  meet  it,  as 
she  went  to  her  room  to  dress  for  dinner.  In 
less  than  an  hour  there  was  the  stir  of  an 
arrival,  and  John  Campbell's  slow,  heavy  tread 
upon  the  stairs,  and  Mary's  cry  of  joy  as  she 
met  him  in  the  upper  corridor. 

Maggie  went  on  dressing  with  an  increase  of 
happiness ;  she  felt  Mary's  pleasure  as  if  it 
were  her  own.  With  a  natural  and  exquisite 
taste,  she  raised  high  the  loose  soft  coils  of  her 


312  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

nut-brown  hair ;  and  let  fall  in  long  and  flow 
ing  grace  the  rich  folds  of  nut-brown  satin 
that  robed  her.  She  wore  no  ornaments  of 
any  kind,  except  a  cluster  of  white  asters  in 
her  belt,  which  Mary  had  given  her  from  those 
brought  for  her  own  use. 

She  was  just  fastening  them  there  when  Mary 
entered.  "You  .  lovely  woman!"  she  cried 
enthusiastically.  "  I  think  you  must  look  like 
Helen  of  Troy.  I  have  a  mind  to  call  you 
Helen.  Have  you  reflected  that  you  will  have 
to  be  Uncle  John's  host?  So  before  I  take 
you  to  him,  go  down  stairs,  dear,  and  see  if 
the  table  is  pretty,  and  all  just  as  I  should  like 
to  have  it  for  him.  And  if  there  are  no  flowers 
on  the  table,  Maggie,  go  to  the  conservatory 
and  cut  the  loveliest  you  can  find — only  if  you 
stay  too  long,  I  shall  send  Uncle  John  to  find 
you." 

She  passed  out  nodding  and  smiling  and 
looking  unusually  beautiful  and  happy.  Mag 
gie  found  that  the  dinner  table  was  splendidly 
laid,  but  it  was,  as  she  expected,  destitute  of 
flowers,  because  it  had  always  been  either 
Mary's  or  her  own  pleasure  to  cut  them.  The 
conservatory  was  an  addition  to  the  large  double 


THE  MEE  TING  PLA  CE.  313 

drawing-rooms  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall, 
and  she  was  rather  astonished  to  see  that  the 
fires  had  been  lighted  in  them.  At  the 
entrance  of  the  conservatory  she  stood  a 
moment,  wondering  if  she  could  reach  a  superb 
white  camellia,  shining  above  her  like  a  star 
among  its  dark  green  leaves.  As  she  hesitated, 
Allan  opened  the  door,  and  walked  straight 
to  the  hearth.  He  did  not  see  Maggie,  and 
her  first  impulse  was  to  retreat  into  the 
shadow  of  some  palms  beside  her.  A  slight 
movement  made  him  turn.  She  stood  there 
smiling,  blushing,  waiting. 

"  Maggie !  " 

The  cry  was  one  of  utter  wonder  and 
delight.  "Oh,  my  love!  My  love!  My 
love  !  "  He  held  her  in  his  arms.  She  was 
his  forever  now.  "  Not  death  itself  shall  part 
us  again,"  he  whispered,  with  that  extrava 
gance  of  attachment  which  is  permissible  to 
lovers.  For  what  lover  ever  spoke  reasonably  ? 
The  lover  that  can  do  so  is  not  a  lover ;  he  is 
fathoms  below  that  diviner  atmosphere  whose 
language  is,  of  necessity,  as  well  as  choice,  fool 
ishness  to  the  uninitiated. 

Allan  had  been  sent  by  Mary  for  some  book 


314  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

she  affected  to  particularly  want.  He  forgot 
the  book,  as  Maggie  forgot  the  flowers,  and  in 
half-an-hour,  John  Campbell  was  sent  after  his 
dilatory  son.  Old  men  do  not  like  surprises  as 
well  as  lovers,  and  Mary  had  thought  it  best  to 
prepare  him  for  the  meeting  that  was  close 
at  hand.  He  had  felt  a  little  fear  of  the  shock 
he  was  sure  he  would  have  to  bear  as  graciously 
as  possible.  But  pleasant  shocks  do  not  hurt, 
and  John  Campbell's  spirits  rose  as  soon  as  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  beautiful  woman  standing 
by  his  son's  side.  He  came  forward  with 
smiles,  he  welcomed  Maggie,  and  called  her 
"  daughter  "  with  a  genuine  pride  and  tender 
ness. 

Very  soon  he  reminded  the  lovers  that  he 
was  an  old  man  who  thought  highly  of  his 
dinner  ;  he  gave  Maggie  his  arm  and  led  her 
into  the  dining-room.  There  were  no  flowers 
on  the  table,  and  the  meats  were  a  little  out  of 
time  and  past  savor,  but  Allan  and  Maggie 
were  oblivious  of  such  trifles,  and  John  Camp 
bell  was  too  polite,  and  perhaps  also  too  sym 
pathetic  to  remind  them  that  they  were  still 
in  Ayrshire,  and  that  Ayrshire  was  not  Eden. 
And  though  Mary  had  not  been  able  to  wit- 


THE  MEE  TING  PL  A  CE.  315 

ness  the  happiness  she  had  planned,  she  felt  it. 
It  seemed  to  pervade  the  house  like  some 
quicker  atmosphere.  She  had  even  a  better 
appetite,  and  the  servants  also  seemed  con 
scious  of  a  new  joy,  and  indefinable  promise  of 
festivity — something  far  more  subtle  than  a 
bird  in  the  air  had  carried  the  matter  to  every 
heart. 

After  dinner,  while  John  Campbell  was  talk 
ing  to  Maggie,  Allan  went  to  see  Mary.  She 
was  still  on  her  sofa,  a  little  tired,  but  very 
happy  and  very  pretty.  He  knelt  down  by 
her  side,  and  kissed  her,  as  he  whispered,  "  Oh 
Mary !  My  sister  Mary !  How  good  you 
have  been  to  me !  It  is  wonderful !  I  cannot 
thank  you,  dear,  as  I  want  to.  I  am  so  happy, 
so  happy,  Mary ;  and  it  is  your  doing." 

"  I  know  how  glad  and  grateful  you  are, 
Allan.  The  work  was  its  own  reward.  I  love 
Maggie.  She  has  far  more  than  repaid  me. 
My  dear  Allan,  you  are  going  to  be  a  very 
happy  man.  Now  you  may  go  to  Maggie,  and 
tell  Uncle  John  that  I  expect  him  to  sit  with 
me  to-night." 

They  smiled  gladly  at  each  other  as  they 
parted,  and  yet  as  soon  as  the  door  was  shut 


3 1 6  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

between  them  they  sighed.  In  the  very 
height  of  our  happiness  why  do  we  often  sigh  ? 
Is  it  because  the  soul  pities  itself  for  joys  so 
fleeting  that  they  are  like  the  shadow  of  a  bird 
"  that  wings  the  skies  and  with  whose  flight 
the  shadow  flies."  For  even  to-morrow  there 
would  be  some  change,  however  slight.  Allan 
knew  that  never  again  could  he  taste  just  this 
night's  felicity.  And  blessed  are  they  who 
take  God's  gift  of  joy  every  hour  as  it  comes, 
and  who  do  not  postpone  the  happiness  of 
this  life  unto  the  next  one. 

Early  in  the  morning  Allan  went  to  see 
David.  He  had  removed  from  the  Candleriggs, 
and  he  found  him  in  comparatively  handsome 
rooms  in  Monteith  terrace.  He  rose  to  meet 
Allan  with  a  troubled  look,  and  said  at  once,  "  I 
have  no  more  information,  Mr.  Campbell.  I  am 
very  sorry  for  the  fact." 

"  David,  I  have  found  Maggie  !  I  am  come 
to  take  you  to  see  her." 

"  Why  has  she  not  come  to  see  me  ?  I  think 
that  is  her  duty,  and  I'm  no  inclined  to  excuse 
her  from  it.  She  has  given  me  many  a  trou 
bled  hour,  Mr.  Campbell,  and  she  ought  to  say 
some  word  anent  it." 


THE  MEETING  PLACE.  317 

"  There  are  always  whys  and  wherefores, 
David,  that  cannot  be  explained  in  a  minute  or 
two.  She  has  been  living  with  my  cousin,  Miss 
Campbell  of  Drumloch.  I  think  that  circum 
stance  will  warrant  your  faith  in  Maggie  with 
out  further  explanations  at  present."  Allan 
was  so  happy,  he  could  not  be  angry ;  not  even 
when  David  still  hesitated,  and  spoke  of  lec 
tures  to  be  attended,  and  translations  yet  unfin 
ished. 

"Come,  come,"  he  said  persuasively;  "shut 
your  books,  David,  and  let's  away  to  the  '  Banks 
and  Braes  o'  bonnie  Doon '.  Miss  Campbell 
and  Maggie  are  both  anxious  to  see  you.  We 
cannot  be  quite  happy  without  you,  David." 

Then  smiling,  yet  half-reluctant,  he  went  to 
his  room  to  dress.  When  he  returned — hat 
and  gloves  in  hand — Allan  could  not  but  look 
at  him  with  a  little  amazement.  His  suit  of 
black  broadcloth  was  cut  in  the  strictest  eccle 
siastical  fashion,  and  admirably  set  off  the  dusky 
pallor  and  fine  stature  of  the  young  student, 
Every  minor  detail  was  in  keeping.  His  linen 
band  and  cuffs  were  fine  and  white,  the  fit  of 
his  shoes  and  gloves  perfect,  the  glossy  excel 
lence  of  his  hat  beyond  a  cavil. 


318  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE, 

"  I  am  at  your  service  now,  Mr.  Campbell, 
though  let  me  tell  you,  I  think  I  am  giving-in 
to  Maggie  more  than  I  ought  to,  sir." 

"  David,  we  are  going  to  be  brothers,  and  I 
am  proud  and  glad  of  it.  Suppose  you  drop 
the  Mr.  Campbell  and  the  sir — I  think  it  is 
quite  time." 

"  There  is  a  measure  of  respect  in  the  word 
sir ;  and  I  wouldna  care  to  drop  it  altogether 
with  my  nearest  and  dearest ;  I  like  it  for 
myself  whiles.  But  I  am  fain  of  the  brother 
hood,  Allan  ;  and  I  will  give  you  with  all  my 
heart  a  brother's  love  and  honor." 

Then  David  surrendered  himself  to  the  pleas 
ure  of  the  hour.  He  had  never  been  in  that 
part  of  Scotland  before,  but  he  knew  every 
historical  and  literary  landmark  better  than 
Allan  did.  And  when  he  drove  through  the 
fine  part  of  Drumloch,  and  came  in  sight  of  the 
picturesque  and  handsome  pile  of  buildings,  he 
said  with  a  queer  smile,  "  The  Promoters  don't 
flit  for  a  bare  shelter,  Maggie  found  a  bonnie 
hiding  place." 

He  was  quite  as  much  delighted  and  aston 
ished  at  his  sister's  appearance  and  improve 
ment,  but  he  did  not  express  it.  He  kissed  her 


THE  MEETING  PLACE.  319 

kindly,  but  his  first  words  had  the  spirit  of  the 
reproof  he  thought  she  well  deserved :  "  Mag 
gie  Promoter,  you  did  not  behave  well  to  me 
yonder  day  I  sent  you  home,  as  it  was  my  duty 
to  do.  If  the  Lord  hadna  undertaken  the  guid 
ing  o'  you,  you  wad  hae  made  a  sair  mistake, 
my  lassie  !  But  I'll  say  nae  mair,  seeing  that  He 
has  brought  gude  out  o'  evil  and  right  out  o' 
wrang." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Davie,  very  sorry,  but — " 
"  That  is  enough.  And  you  are  like  to  do 
weel  to  yourself ;  and  we  may  baith  say,  that  He 
has  aye  carried  the  purse  for  us,  ever  since  the 
day  He  took  our  father  and  bread-winner  from 
us.  And  though  you  have  been  whiles  a  sair 
thought  to  me,  yet  now  you  are  going  to  be  an 
honor  and  a  rejoicing  and  I  am  a  very  proud 
and  happy  brother  this  day,  Maggie." 

John  Campbell  was  still  at  Drumloch,  and 
David  and  he  "  sorted  "  from  the  first  moment 
of  their  meeting.  They  had  ecclesiastical  opin 
ions  in  common,  especially  in  regard  to  the 
"  Freedom  of  the  Kirk  "  from  all  lay  suprema 
cy  ; — a  question  then  simmering  in  every  Scotch 
heart,  and  destined  a  little  later  to  find  its  solu 
tion  in  the  moral  majesty  6f  the  "  Free  Kirk 


320  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

Movement."  David's  glowing  speech  stirred 
him,  as  speech  always  stirs  the  heart,  when  it 
interprets  persuasion  and  belief  ripened  into 
faith  :  and  faith  become  a  passionate  intuition. 
That  he  was  the  master  spirit  of  the  company 
was  shown  by  the  fact  that  he  kept  the  con 
versation  in  his  own  groove,  and  at  his  own 
will.  Mrs.  Leslie  made  him  her  deepest  court 
esy,  and  the  old  butler  threw  into  all  his  serv 
ices  an  amount  of  respect  only  given  by  him 
to  his  spiritual  masters  and  teachers. 

And  David  took  all  with  that  unconscious 
adaptation  of  attention  which  indicates  those 
born  to  authority  and  to  honor.  When  asked 
after  dinner  if  he.  would  pay  his  respects  to  the 
mistress  of  Drumloch,  he  rose  calmly  and  with 
a  real  unconcern.  He  had  sat  with  doctors  of 
divinity,  and  faced  learned  professors  with  a 
thesis  or  an  exegesis  that  touched  the  roots  of 
the  most  solemn  propositions ;  an  interview 
with  a  lady  a  little  younger  than  himself  was 
not  likely  to  disturb  his  equanimity.  For  he 
was  yet  in  that  callow  stage  of  sentient  being, 
which  has  not  been  inspired  and  irradiated  by 
"  the  light  that  lies  in  woman's  eyes." 

That  night  as  they  sat  together  Maggie's  and 


THE  MEE  TING  PLA  CE.  321 

Allan's  marriage  was  discussed.  "  They  want 
to  be  married  very  quietly,"  said  Mary  laugh 
ing.  "Did  you  ever  hear  such  nonsense,  Uncle 
John?  There  has  not  been  a  wedding  feast  in 
Drumloch  for  seventy  years.  We  will  grace 
the  old  rooms,  and  handsel  all  the  new  ones 
with  the  blythest  bridal  Ayrshire  has  seen  in  a 
century.  Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Pro 
moter  ?  " 

Certainly  Mr.  Promoter  did  ;  and  the  kirk 
also,  he  said,  had  aye  favored  a  public  binding 
of  the  sacred  tie,  not  to  go  further  back  to  the 
wedding  feast  at  Cana,  honored  by  His  pres 
ence  and  provided  for  by  His  hand. 

"And  Maggie  shall  walk  in  silk  attire  ;  and 
we  will  dress  the  rooms  in  flags  and  flowers,  and 
lay  a  great  feast,  and  call  friends  and  neighbors 
from  afar.  For  we  have  the  bonniest  bride  to 
show  them  that  ever  '  stepped  stately  east  or 
west  from  Drumloch'sbonnie  braes'." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WOO'D  AND   MARRIED  AND  A'. 

"My  love  is  fair,  I  could  not  help  but  choose  him. 
My  love  is  good,  I  could  not  bear  to  lose  him. 
My  love  is  wise,  oh,  what  could  I  refuse  him  ?  " 

"  And  Love,  our  light  at  night  and  shade  at  noon, 
Lulls  us  to  rest  with  songs,  and  turns  away 
All  shafts  of  shelterless,  tumultuous  day. 

Like  the  moon's  growth,  his  face  gleams  through  his  tune  ; 

And  as  soft  waters  warble  to  the  moon 

Our  answering  spirits  chime  one  roundelay." 

A  "BLYTHESOME  BRIDAL"  is  a  trad i- 
tional  Scotch  law,  not  to  be  lightly  broken 
by  either  rich  or  poor.  Its  non-observance 
usually  implied  some  sorrowful  element,  and 
Mary's  national,  as  well  as  natural  desire,  was 
therefore  toward  an  elaborate  festal  ceremony. 
As  soon  as  this  intention  was  put  into  words 
their  very  echo  seemed  to  be  a  prelude  to  the 
coming  joy. 

The  .old,  still  house  acquired,  no  one  could 
very  well  tell  how,  an  air  of  expectation  and 


WOO'D  AND  MARRIED  AND  A\  323 

pleasant  hurry.  Guest  chambers,  that  had  not 
been  used  for  many  years,  were  prepared  for 
occupation. 

The  ceremony  was  to  take  place  on  New 
Year's  Day ;  so  that  the  lovers  were  to  date  a 
fresh  life  from  a  fresh  year — a  year  in  which 
they  had  shed  no  tears,  nor  feared,  nor  been  in 
any  strait  or  disappointment.  They  would  write 
upon  its  first  page  their  marriage  joy ;  and  in 
order  to  do  so  would  not  need  to  wipe  out  one 
sorrowful  memory.  In  the  meantime  they 
dwelt  in  a  land  of  delights.  Wonderful  things 
happened  to  Maggie  every  day.  John  Camp 
bell  never  wearied  of  sending  her  presents. 
"  She  is  my  daughter,"  he  said,  "  and  what  for 
will  I  not  send  her  the  plenishing  for  her  bridal  ?  " 
Allan  gave  her  jewels.  Mary  ransacked  her 
antique  "azvmries"  and  cabinets  for  the  laces 
of  by-gone  Campbell  beauties  ;  and  spent  her 
sovereigns  lavishly  on  modern  fairy-like  webs 
for  the  wedding  garments. 

It  would  have  been  unlovely  and  unwomanly 
in  Maggie  not  to  be  happy ;  not  to  be  a  little 
excited,  not  perhaps,  sometimes,  to  have  been 
a  little  trying.  For  a  great  happiness  is  often 
depressing  to  those  who  have  to  witness  its 


324  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

exultation,  prolonged  day  after  day.  Ordinary 
mortals  feel  outside  of  it,  and  it  strikes  them 
with  a  vague,  but  certain,  fear.  Mary  often 
said  to  herself — "  I  would  not  be  so  silly  about 
any  one  as  Maggie  is  about  Allan.  I  hope  if 
ever  I  do  fall  in  love,  a  measure  of  common 
sense  will  be  granted  me." 

Still  people  usually  show  a  singular  patience 
and  tolerance  with  lovers.  The  old  have  "  been 
in  Arcadia,"  and  have  tender  memories  of  it. 
The  young  have  a  wistful  anticipation,  a  sym 
pathetic  curiosity.  At  any  rate,  the  courtship 
was  only  to  last  six  weeks,  and  Mary  deter 
mined,  however  provoking  the  engaged  pair 
might  be,  that  she  would  put  all  down  to  the 
fact  that  lovers  believe  themselves  to  be  a  sub 
limated  couple,  quite  out  of  the  community  of 
ordinary  mortals  ;  and  being  so  happy  and  self- 
satisfied  with  themselves,  they  could  not  under 
stand  why  every  one  else  was  not  in  the  same 
supreme  condition. 

And  Mary  Campbell  was  right;  for  if  love 
is  to  have  anything  like  the  place  in  real  life, 
that  it  has  in  poetry — if  we  have  any  faith  in 
that  mighty  ruler  of  hearts  and  lives,  a  genuine 
love  affair,  we  ought  not  to  dim  the  glory  of 


WOOD  AND  MARRIED  AND  A'.  325 

marriage  by  denying  it  this  sojourn  in  a  verita 
ble  land  of  enchantment ;  for  in  its  atmosphere 
many  fine  feelings  blossom,  that  never  would 
have  birth  at  all,  if  the  niceties  and  delicacies  of 
courtship  were  superseded  by  the  levelling 
rapidity  of  marriage.  There  is  time  for  writing 
and  reading  love  letters,  and  both  tongue  and 
pen  get  familiar  with  affectionate  and  noble 
sentiments.  We  may  admit  that  love-making 
is  an  unreasonable  and  impracticable  piece  of 
business ;  but  in  this  very  circumstance  all  its 
charm  lies.  Love  delights  in  asserting  the 
incredible,  and  in  believing  the  impossible.  But 
it  is  precisely  in  the  depths  of  this  delicious 
foolishness  that  the  heart  attains  its  noblest 
growth.  There  may  be  many  grander  hopes, 
many  calmer  and  more  reasonable  joys  in  store 
for  us,  but, 

"There's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  Love's  young  dream." 

At  length  the  wonderful  day  arrived.  It  had 
been  well  prepared  for,  and  all  was  in  readi 
ness.  There  was  no  hurry,  no  fret,  no  uncer 
tainty.  Early  in  the  morning  men  began  to 
hang  the  old  battle  flags  and  armor  of  the 
Campbells  of  Drumloch  and  to  adorn  the  rooms 


326  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

with  myrtle  and  fresh  flowers.  It  was  not  the 
fashion  then  to  turn  the  house  into  a  conserva 
tory,  but  the  effect  of  the  scattered  groups  of 
flowers,  and  bridal  wreaths,  was  far  more 
festal  in  character. 

At  four  o'clock  the  party  were  all  assembled, 
and  in  response  to  some  understood  signal, 
the  clergy  grouped  themselves  at  one  end  of 
the  large  parlors.  Then  Allan  entered  at  the 
other.  With  him  was  a  minister  in  silk  cas 
sock  and  white  lawn  bands.  It  was  Dr.  Bal- 
muto.  Maggie  followed,  leaning  upon  John 
Campbell's  arm.  An  involuntary  stir,  a  mur 
mur  of  admiration,  greeted  her.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  robe  of  ivory-tinted  silk,  inter 
woven  with  threads  of  pure  silver.  Exquisite 
lace  veiled  her  throat  and  arms ;  opals  and 
diamonds  glowed  and  glinted  among  it.  Her 
fine  hair  was  beautifully  arranged,  and  in  her 
hand  she  carried  the  small  Testament  upon 
which  she  would  seal  her  vows. 

Even  David  Promoter  responded  in  some 
measure  to  the  influence  of  the  hour.  Not 
often  did  he  permit  himself  to  lose  sight  of  the 
great  object  of  his  existence ;  but  this  was  an 
"  occasion,"  when  he  felt  that  he  might  lawfully 


WOO'D  AND  MARRIED  AND  A'.  327 

put  his  sister,  and  his  natural  interest  in  her, 
before  other  hopes  and  aims.  And  this  day, 
he  was  really  proud  of  Maggie.  She  had  done 
well  unto  herself ;  she  had  justified  all  his  own 
intentions  toward  her;  she  had  allied  him  with 
one  of  the  best  families  in  the  west  of  Scotland. 
He  kissed  her  with  a  tender  approval,  and 
reminded  her,  as  it  was  indeed  his  duty,  how 
good  God  had  been  to  her,  and  how,  He  had 
brought  her  also,  unto  her  "  desired  haven." 

He  gave  her  this  short  homily,  as  he  stood 
before  her  in  Mary's  little  parlor,  just  ere  the 
wedding  service  began.  Maggie  listened  to 
him  with  a  touching  gratitude  and  humility. 
In  her  eyes  David  was  something  more  than  a 
brother.  He  had  laid  his  hand  upon  the  altar 
and  was  set  apart  for  its  ministering.  And  he 
looked,  every  inch  of  him,  the  priest  of  his 
people.  For  David  had  always  considered  the 
proper  habit  of  his  order  a  subject  worthy  of 
his  careful  attention;  and  on  this  auspicious 
occasion  he  was  dressed  with  the  utmost  care. 
Even  among  the  varied  and  splendid  uniforms 
of  the  military  officers  present,  David  Pro 
moter's  rich  and  sombre  vestment  was  very 
noticeable.  No  one  could  deny  that  he  was  a 


328  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

singularly  handsome  and  distinguished-looking 
man.  It  was  upon  his  arm  Mary  Campbell 
entered,  and  her  delicate  beauty,  enhanced  by 
a  white  robe  of  some  diaphanous  material,  made 
a  telling  contrast  to  the  young  minister's  tall 
form,  and  black  raiment. 

Maggie,  on  her  father-in-law's  arm,  was  but  a 
few  steps  in  advance  of  them.  They  saw  Allan 
turn  and  watch  her  coming  to  him,  and  the 
light  on  his  face  transfigured  it.  This  was  the 
woman  he  had  been  born  to  meet ;  the  woman 
that  was  the  completion  of  his  own  nature. 
Once  more  he  caught  at  a  venture  the  beautiful 
eyes  through  which  had  come  their  first  recog 
nition  ;  and  he  saw  that  they  met  his  full  of 
glad  confidence  and  happy  expectation. 

Dr.  Balmuto's  charge  was  a  very  solemn  and 
a  very  loving  one.  The  tears  were  on  his 
cheeks  as  Maggie  stood  before  him.  He  spoke 
to  her  as  gently  as  if  she  were  his  own  daugh 
ter.  He  bade  her  look  forward  to  the  joyful 
duties  of  her  lot.  He  laid  her  hand  in  Allan's 
hand  with  a  blessing.  Then  from  every  lip 
arose  the  triumphant  strains  of  the  one  hund 
red  and  twenty-eighth  psalm  —  the  happy, 
hopeful  wedding  psalm — and  with  the  gracious 


WOOD  AND  MARRIED  AND  A\  329 

benediction,  Allan  and  Maggie  turned  with 
smiling  faces  toward  their  future. 

The  first  months  of  their  married  life  were  to 
be  spent  in  Continental  travel.  Maggie  was  to 
see  all  the  famous  places,  which,  as  yet,  were 
only  names  to  her,  and  Allan  was  to  see  them 
again  through  her  eyes.  They  went  away 
in  the  gay,  splendid  fashion  of  the  time,  in  an 
open  landau  drawn  by  four  horses,  with  out 
riders.  The  guects  crowded  the  hall  and  the 
open  door ;  the  servants  gathered  below  them  ; 
the  tenants  lined  the  road  to  the  small  station 
which  they  had  selected  for  their  starting 
point.  And  thus  in  a  very  triumph  of  joy 
they  started  upon  their  long  life  journey. 

The  festivities  of  the  bridal  were  continued 
for  many  days,  both  in  the  castle  and  among 
the  servants ;  and  during  them  the  young  couple 
were  abundantly  discussed.  One  of  these  dis 
cussions,  occurring  between  the  factor  of  the 
estate  and  Miss  Campbell's  maid,  is  worth 
repeating,  as  it  indicated  a  possible  motive  in 
the  reticent  little  lady's  life  with  which  her 
friends  were  not  familiar. 

"  Wha  are  these  Promoters?"  asked  the  fac 
tor. 


330  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"'They  are  a  Fife  family." 

"  Wasna  that  handsome  young  minister  her 
brother?" 

"  He  was  that." 

"  He  seems  to  hae  set  his  heart  on  the  heiress 
o'  Drumloch." 

"Captain  Manners  has  the  same  notion." 

"The  minister  will  win." 

"  The  minister  will  not  win.     Not  he  !  " 

The  words  were  so  emphatically  snapped  out 
that  they  were  followed  by  a  distinct  silence. 

"Jessie,"  the  factor  said,  "you  are  vera  posi 
tive  ;  but  if  there  is  one  thing  mair  unreliable 
than  anither,  it  is  a  woman's  fancy.  The  min 
ister  is  a  braw  lad." 

"  I  ken  ane  that's  worth  twenty  o'  him,  ay, 
I'll  say,  fifty  o'  him." 

"You're  no  surely  meaning  that  young 
Glasca'  lawyer  that  comes  here,  whiles." 

"You're  no  surely  meaning  to  pass  an  insult 
on  Miss  Mary,  factor.  I'm  thinking  o'  my 
Lord  Forfar,  and  nae  ither  man  to  match  him. 
He  would  kiss  my  lady's  little  shoon,  and  think 
the  honor  too  much  for  king  or  kaiser.  And 
for  a'  their  plumes,  and  gold,  and  scarlet,  the 
rattle  o'  their  swords,  and  the  jingle  o'  their 


WOOD  AND  MARRIED  AND  A'.  331 

spurs,  there  wasna  an  officer  at  the  bridal  I'd 
name  in  the  same  breath  wi'  Lord  Lionel  For- 
far." 

"  But  the  minister" — 

"  Houts  !  What  does  a  bonnie  lady,  young 
and  rich  and  beautiful,  want  wi'  a  minister 
body,  unless  it  be  to  marry  her  to  some  ither 
lad?" 

"You're  for  Forfar  because  he  is  Fife." 

"You're  right — partly.  I'm  Fife  mysel'.  A' 
my  gude  common  sense  comes  frae  Fife.  But 
for  that  matter,  the  minister  comes  from  the 
auld  '  kingdom  '  too." 

They  were  talking  in  a  little  room  adjoining 
the  servants'  dining  hall.  The  factor  was 
smoking,  Jessie  stood  on  the  stone  hearth, 
tapping  her  foot  restlessly  upon  it. 

"  What's  the  man  thinking  o'  ? "  she  ex 
claimed  after  a  little.  "  One  would  say 
you  were  at  a  funeral  instead  o'  a  wed 
ding." 

"Thoughts  canna  always  be  sent  here  or 
there,  Jessie.  I  was  wondering  what  would 
come  o'  Drumloch  if  my  lady  took  the  Fife 
road.  It  would  gie  me  sair  een  to  see  its  bon 
nie  braes  in  the  market." 


33 2  A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

"  Think  shame  o'  yoursel'  for  the  vera 
thought — 

'  The  Campbells  will  sit  in  Drumloch's  halls, 
Till  the  crown  be  lost  and  the  kingdom  falls.' 

When  the  lady  goes  to  her  fate,  there's  a 
laird  waiting,  I  trow,  to  take  her  place  ;  and 
weel  will  he  fill  it." 

"You'll  be  meaning  Mr.  John  Campbell?" 

"  Wha  else  ?  He  was  born  in  the  house, 
and  please  God,  he'll  die  in  its  shelter.  If 
my  lady  goes  to  Forfar  Castle  what  will  she 
want  wi'  Drumloch?  A  good  sum  o'  lying  sil 
ler  will  be  better  for  her,  and  she  would  rather 
bide  Miss  Campbell  a'  the  days  o'  her  life,  than 
take  the  hame  o'  the  Campbells  to  strange  folk." 

"  I  wish  her  weel  always,  but  I'm  no  against 
the  thought  o'  serving  John  Campbell  again. 
Women  are  whiles  vera  trying  in  the  way  o' 
business.  There's  naething  but  arithmetic 
needed  in  business,  but  they  will  bring  a'  sorts 
o'  im-prac-ti-ca-ble  elements  into  it  likewise." 

"  I  hope  you  mean  naething  wrang  by  that 
big  word,  factor." 

"  Nae  wrang,  nae  wrang,  Jessie.  Miss  Camp 
bell  is  easy  to  do  for,  and  she  has  bonnie  lady 
like  ways  wi'  her;  but  I'd  like  fine  to  see  that 


IVOO'D  AND  MARRIED  AND  A'.  333 

grand,  grey-headed  auld  gentleman  laird  o'  the 
place.  He'd  bring  a  deal  o'  respect  with  him." 

"  He  would  that ;  and  folks  would  hear  o' 
Drumloch  in  London  ;  for  Miss  Campbell  said 
to  that  Glasca'  law  body,  that  her  uncle 
would  gie  up  the  business  to  his  son  Allan, 
and  go  into  parliament  himsel' — goodness  kens 
they  need  some  douce,  sensible  men  there. 
Hear  to  the  fiddles !  I  feel  them  in  the  soles 
o'  my  feet !  I  never  could  sit  still  when 
'  Moneymusk '  was  tingling  in  my  ear  chambers. 
Come  awa',  factor,  and  let  us  hae  a  reel 
thegither !  " 

"  Wi'  a'  my  heart,  Jessie.  And  though  I  am 
on  the  wrang  side  o'  fifty,  there's  none  has  a 
better  spring  than  I  hae."  He  had  laid  down 
his  pipe,  and  taken  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  and 
tripping  and  swaying  to  the  enchanting  strains 
they  went  into  the  dancing  hall  together. 

"  Nae  wonder  the  fiddles  made  us  come,  it's 
the  gypsy  band,  factor;"  and  Jessie  pointed 
out  five  or  six  dark,  handsome  fellows  with 
tumbled  black  hair,  and  half-shut  gleaming  eyes, 
who  had  ranged  themselves  with  sullen  shyness 
and  half-rebellious  order  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  room.  But  how  wondrously  their  slim, 


334  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  FIFE. 

supple  fingers  touched  the  bow,  or  the  strings  ! 
They  played  like  magicians,  and  wrought  the 
slow,  grave  natures  before  them  up  to  a  very 
riot  of  ravishing  motion.  Faster  and  faster 
flew  the  bounding,  sliding  feet ;  the  dancers 
being  stimulated  by  the  musicians,  and  the 
musicians  driven  to  a  passion  of  excitement  by 
those  exhilarating  cries,  and  those  snappings 
of  the  fingers,  through  which  the  canny  Scot 
relieves  the  rapture  of  his  delicious  dancing. 

But  mere  physical  delight  never  satisfies  even 
the  humblest  gathering  of  this  douce  nation 
ality.  In  a  few  hours  the  fiddles  were  stopped, 
and  the  table  set  out,  and  the  great  bowl  of 
wedding  punch  brought  in,  to  brighten  wit, 
and  song,  and  story.  It  was  then  very  near  the 
close  of  the  day,  and  with  it  came  Mary  Camp 
bell  to  give  the  bridal  toast.  She  had  been 
dancing  with  her  own  friends,  and  her  cheeks 
were  like  a  delicate  flame,  and  her  eyes  like 
twin  stars.  Never  had  she  looked  so  beauti 
ful,  as  when  standing  amid  the  standing  crowd, 
she  raised  the  tiny  glass  above  her  head,  and 
said  in  the  sudden  stillness — 

' '  Here's  to  the  bonnie  Bride  ! 
Long  may  she  live  f  and  happy  may  she  be  !  " 


WOO'D  AND  MARRIED  AND  A".  335 

Then  hand  clasped  hand,  and  glass  touched 
glass,  and  heart  touched  heart,  and  from  every 
lip  rang  out,  again  and  again,  the  loving,  joyful 
invocation — 

' '  Here 's  to  the  bonnie  Bride  ! 
Long  may  she  live  !  and  happy  may  she  be  /  " 


Date  Due 


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CAT.    NO.   24    161 


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